


Say, Can I Tempt You?

by define_serenity



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, Dubious Morality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Sexual Content, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Cruel Intentions AU] Hunter makes a bet with Sebastian, his stepbrother, that he won’t be able to take Blaine’s virginity. If he loses, Hunter gets his Jaguar, if he wins, Sebastian gets Hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> **Cruel Intentions AU** , with some tinkering on the plot here and there. It helps if you’ve seen the movie, but I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary. I worked with the original script for some scenes, just for fun. Title taken from _Satan's Seventh Bride_ by Helicopter Girl.
> 
> Thanks goes out to **Nikki** for some brainstorming sessions over characterization and casting options, to Tanya for her cheerleading and enthusiasm, and of course, always, to Kay, for beta-reading :)

**1**

**INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE – day**

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have killer legs?”

Dr Del Monico sighs deeply. The boy currently on her couch could easily be mistaken for a perfectly healthy and well-balanced high school graduate: hair carefully waxed in a single wave upward, dressed in a no-doubt expensive black and white suit and tie, legs crossed. But Dr Del Monico has learned better.

“Let’s try and focus, Sebastian.”

Sebastian continues to stare at her legs where they’re peeking from under her knee-length skirt. “I would love to photograph them sometime,” he says, allows his eyes to linger.

Instilled with a healthy dose of confidence from a very early age, Sebastian Smythe has always known what he wanted, and that was decidedly different from what people wanted from him. There were those things they could agree on: he was well groomed and well spoken in the appropriate company, he prided himself on keeping his suits spick-and-span and spent a fair amount of attention to his looks. His lifestyle, the rich and affluent part, had come to him through birth; the sexual preferences too, of course, but differed greatly from the ones his parents hoped he’d exhibit.

His sexuality however was one point of contention his father or subsequent stepfathers had never been able to accept. Unfortunately for them it was one concession he refused to make.

But what can he say—he’s a people pleaser. When his mother and stepfather had decided he needed therapy to straighten him out he’d gone along with it; he liked his trust fund and had grown accustomed to his lifestyle, so he’d resigned himself to appease them.

Now, six months into therapy with Terri Del Monico he knows it hasn’t meant a damn thing. He hasn’t changed, had never planned on it in the first place, but as long as his parents believed it was working, well, it was fun watching the doctor fume over some of his statements, yet not being able to do anything about it. He was providing her with a fairly impressive paycheck, after all. 

An income, it turned out, she had been supplementing with all sorts of things she was not offering him.

“Sebastian!” Dr Del Monico scolds. “How is it that after six months of therapy you haven’t made an ounce of progress?”

Sebastian raises his eyes to meet his therapist’s and smirks; he thought therapists were supposed to be more patient. “Have you ever considered that maybe there’s nothing wrong with me?” he asks, already having ascertained that despite being open-minded about a great many things, there’s a bit of a racist and a homophobe in dear Terri. “Not that you’ve bothered telling my parents that.”

“Your parents want what’s best for you.”

“My mother hasn’t given a shit about me since she remarried,” Sebastian says, thinks that after six months she really should have come to these conclusions herself. “And my stepfather only cares about what I do when it threatens his reputation.”

“Which you have on countless occasions by exposing yourself to scandal and—”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow on Dr Del Monico’s face. “Scandal in whose eyes?”

“This isn’t a joke,” Dr Del Monico exasperates. “Your parents spend a lot of money to send you here. I’m trying to help you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Terri,” he says. “You’ve been a big help.”

If not only for convincing his stepfather that he was capable of sticking something out—it might not have been the most ideal gig, but it’d been fun watching Terri’s cheeks turn every shade of red over the course of the past six months; knowing that she couldn’t break the doctor-patient confidentiality clause made it all the more fun. There’s only one other who knew that many secrets about him: his journal.

Dr Del Monico huffs. “You think you can come in here with that cute little smirk on your face and try and flirt with me.” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t work, Sebastian.”

Sebastian uncrosses his legs and sits forward, leaning his elbows down on his knees. “It works a little,” he says and winks at her.

“No, it doesn’t.” Dr Del Monico squirms uncomfortably in her seat. “I see right through you.”

Sebastian doesn’t release her eyes—he’s often wondered what it would be like to watch her come, watch that carefully constructed mask come right off, dig his fingers in that tight little body and make it shiver and shake, coax filthy nonsense from her lips when he fucks her hard over her desk, making her beg, scream—

“If only you did, Doctor.”

Dr Del Monico snaps her notebook shut and scrambles out of her seat. “I hope for your sake you grow out of this immature phase.”

“Ouch,” he says, and gets up from the couch. He walks over to where Dr Del Monico stands in front of her desk and maneuvers himself behind her, invading her personal space. “Same time next week?” he asks, tracing a finger down her arm. It’s a line he hasn’t allowed himself to cross up until now, but he knows what she’s about to say.

It was only a matter of time before the doctor decided he wasn’t worth her time or her trouble.

“No,” Dr Del Monico says, turns around harshly, pressing herself back against her desk. “This is going to be our last session.”

The phone rings before he manages to say anything.

“Your daughter on line 1,” the secretary right outside the office sings over the line.

Sebastian smirks to himself, placing a more respectful distance between him and his therapist.

“Tell her to hold,” Terri says.

Sebastian takes a step aside and grabs a framed picture from Terri’s desk. “This her?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. He’d learned as much as he could about the girl as soon as it became clear that Dr Del Monico would keep on charging him extra money without offering any additional services. Not that he particularly minded spending even more of his stepfather’s money, but somewhere deep down it seemed he did possess some semblance of family pride.

And so this simply would not do.

“Don’t even think about it.” Terri snatches the photo from his hands, but holds onto it herself. “Marley is an exceptionally well-rounded young woman who happens to be attending Princeton this fall.” She stares up at Sebastian with thinly veiled anger. “She’s way too smart to fall for your line of bullshit.”

Sebastian shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. “If you say so.”

“Would you please leave?” Dr Del Monico asks, makes a wild gesture towards the door, her eyes wide in emphasis.

Sebastian purses his lips, taps his fingers against them a few times and nods. Yes, this would be his cue to leave. Because he knows what Marley’s calling her mother about.

He winks at Terri one last time and heads out the door, a very pronounced “Asshole” following his exit.

 _Young Marley Rose_ , Sebastian thinks as he makes his way into the elevator, more her father’s daughter than her mother’s, long brown hair that curled up right before it reached her ass, a cute button of a nose and an overall sugary sweetness to her that she definitely did not inherit from her mother. The only thing she did get from Terri was an oversensitivity to other people’s criticism, resulting in an eating disorder she tried to hide desperately.

That had been his way in.

He’d played the long game, waiting, abiding his time, let his interest in her be known subtly with looks and smiles and conversations about some of her favorite things. She’d laughed at his jokes shyly, stared down at her feet while brushing her hair back behind her ear, but once he started pouring compliments – _has anyone ever told you your eyes are gorgeous_ , _you should smile more often_ — _it’s infectious_ , _you have killer legs, did you know?_ – her eyes went wide, smiles even wider and he had her full attention.

Then he’d pretended to accidentally catch her puking her guts out in the bathroom and coaxed her deepest insecurities out of her – _you have no idea the pressure I’m under, keeping up my grade point average and juggling my extracurriculars with my mom watching my every move_ – and he’d held her close and told her everything would be okay, made sure she knew she was beautiful—

After that it was only a matter of time before he talked her clothes off her body. It was almost too easy, really—he’d started with photographing her legs, the quiet notes of encouragement soon made sure her shirt came off, her bra, her panties, and before he knew it he had enough nude pictures of her to fill a few albums.

A photoshopped version of one of the more explicit pictures was now on the Internet for everyone to find.

“Sebastian!” Dr Del Monico’s voice sounds loud the moment he hits the lobby.

He puts on his sunglasses and turns, staring up at the hysterical woman raving at him from the first floor.

“You’re gonna pay for this, you little shit!” she screams. “You sicko! Pervert! Who do you think you are?”

And he just stands there, smiling up at her while her fists pound at the glass, shoos away the security guards when they try to calm her down. It might not have been his greatest victory, there’s a far greater challenge he’s chosen to take up, but this tang of revenge will never not taste sweet. A young girl now found herself sexually empowered and one money-obsessed therapist got knocked down a notch. All in all, the exploit had been well worth his time.

He feels someone join him at his side.

“What’s her problem?” the lilting voice of a boy asks, and he feels his concentration slip.

Sebastian looks at the boy, takes note of the blue knitted cap, the thickly framed glasses and the boy’s overall youthful appearance. “I have no idea,” he says, eyes settling in the boy’s. “Sounds like someone’s in need of some therapy.”

The boy giggles and sidles closer to him. “I’m Chandler,” he says, smiling up at him.

He chuckles low in his throat. As much as he appreciates a boy who takes the initiative, he’s suddenly reminded why he’d decided he needed a bigger challenge in his life.

He grins. “Sorry, honey, I’m busy.”

 

.

**2**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – HUNTER’S OFFICE – day**

 

The townhouse located on 2 East 79th Street and 5th Avenue had come into the Claringtons’ possession when Patrick Clarington married his first wife. Beatrice Elliot had been set on living within the city limits and there was little luxury Patrick denied his wife. Originally built in 1898, the chateau was designed in limestone in the French Gothic style, consisted of three different floors, and had remained Patrick Clarington’s home even after his wife passed away and he remarried Sandra Smythe, née Pillsbury.

For the past three years the house has been occupied by the newly composed family: Patrick and his son Hunter, Sandra and her son Sebastian, and a handful of servants to run the household.

The only floor currently in use is the second one, where Hunter and Sebastian had bedrooms on opposite sides of the hallway, each with an adjoining office where they could do their schoolwork, and a generous living room they shared to receive guests.

Hunter, however, the eldest of the two, preferred to receive his guests in the office.

Shelby Corcoran and her daughter sit in separate chairs, while Hunter has seated himself behind his desk. “I can’t tell you how happy we are that Rachel will be attending NYADA with you this fall,” Shelby says, smiling at him kindly. “We faced some really tight competition.”

“Your name on her application was a plus, no doubt.” Hunter smiles, taking mental note of the ‘we’ in Shelby’s statement; it’s not uncommon for ambitious parents to live vicariously through their children. Though in Shelby’s case he thinks that maybe she’s trying to recapture some of that lost glory.

“That’s why we’re here, Hunter,” Shelby says, reaching over for Rachel’s hand. “I’ve heard from previous alumni that children with—”

He raises an eyebrow. “Privileged parents?”

“I’ve made a name for myself on Broadway.” Shelby nods. “But I don’t want that to hinder Rachel’s education in any way.”

“Then you came to the right place, Mrs Corcoran.”

“It’s _Ms_ Corcoran,” Rachel corrects, throwing her mother an accusatory look. “She _refuses_ to get married.”

“ _Rachel_ ,” Shelby cautions.

Of course Hunter already knows that. He makes it his business to know as much as possible about the people he involves himself with. Shelby Corcoran had been matched up with several men over the course of a few years, but after some digging (and a few bribes) Hunter found out she’d actually been with the same man for the past eight years. Maybe the polls had decided it was bad for both parties to get married, maybe it was the vanity of wanting to keep her own name—he’s not sure. Rachel carried her biological father’s last name, _Berry_ , whom she was very close with despite the fact that Shelby and him had parted ways the moment Rachel was born.

“My apologies, _Ms_ Corcoran.”

“No need.” Shelby waves a hand, before turning to her daughter. “Rachel, Hunter here is the University President’s son. He’s in a unique position to guide you through this. Listen to whatever he has to say and you’ll go far.”

Rachel Berry looks up at him and smiles.

“Honestly,” Shelby says, returning her attention to him. “How do you do it? Where do you find the strength?”

Hunter smiles and gets up from his chair, walking over to the shelf lining the wall. It displays all his trophies; sports, show choir, dance competitions—he’s always been competitive. “I was raised to be ambitious and driven,” he answers and looks at Rachel. “Two qualities that will serve you well at NYADA.”

“And two years of military school helped.”

Rachel’s eyes go wide. “Your father sent you to military school?”

“It was my own choice,” Hunter explains, picking up an old family photo. “After my mother died I drifted, lost focus for a while.” His mother smiles at him from behind the glass. He frowns, shakes his head and puts the photo back down. This is no time to get sentimental. “But I knew she’d want me to keep chasing my dreams. So I went to military school, voluntarily.”

Shelby shakes her head, blinking away tears. “That’s beautiful.”

“I should warn you, though,” –he rounds his desk and leans back against it, arms crossed over his chest– “I expect nothing but the best from the students I take under my wing. You’ll have to work hard and there’ll be no slacking.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Rachel smiles wide, inching forward to the edge of her seat. “I’ve been preparing for this since I could spell out NYADA with my lettering blocks. It’s the only thing that matters to me.”

“So no boyfriend back home to distract you then?”

Rachel’s face falls beyond her control. “No.”

“Boys are a distraction,” Shelby says.

Rachel stares down at her hands.

“Don’t worry, Rachel,” he says. “All of that will fall into place when the time comes. Who knows, you might snatch up one of the fine gentlemen matriculating at NYADA.”

Hunter looks up to see Sebastian lean against the doorframe –speak of the devil– a playful smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Not your stepbrother Sebastian, I hope,” Shelby says.  

“Why?” Sebastian asks, shooting forward into the room. “What’s wrong with me?”

Sebastian halts next to Shelby; he remembers the woman from one of his mother’s lunches. He’d snuck off with one of the wait staff for a quickie in the broom closet—it was most unfortunate that everyone at the luncheon had heard of his transgression, mostly because the boy couldn’t keep quiet.

He guesses he can’t really blame Shelby for wanting to keep him away from her daughter.

“Afternoon, Ms Corcoran,” Sebastian says. “Nice to see you again.”

Shelby regards him with enough disdain to start a small fire with her eyes. “You remember my daughter Rachel?”

Sebastian looks at Rachel, and smiles slyly. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” he says, regarding Rachel carefully—she’s a bit short for his taste, but that’s not necessarily a disadvantage. His eyes draw down to her legs, crossed neatly, adorned with an impressive pair of heels. “My, Hunter told me all about you, but what a blossoming little star you are.”

“Sebastian—” Hunter warns.

Sebastian looks at his stepbrother, and remains quiet.

“Well, I think we’ll be going now.” Shelby gets up from her chair. She smiles at Hunter, “Thank you so much for your help,” she says, but doesn’t spare Sebastian another glance.

“Not a problem.” Hunter smiles. “Rachel, I’ll email you about your curriculum.”

“Thank you,” Rachel says and looks at Sebastian. “It was nice meeting you.”

Sebastian waves. “ _Au revoir_.”

Hunter and Sebastian watch as one of the staff leads Shelby and Rachel out of the office and down the hallway. As soon as they’re out of sight Hunter rolls his eyes and takes off his blazer, loosening two buttons on his shirt. It does grow so tedious, playing the nice guy all the time.

He wanders back to his desk and opens a drawer, pulling at a hole to reveal a false bottom—he takes out a small mirror, topped by a razor blade and a small bag of coke.

“ _I’ll email you about your curriculum_?” Sebastian questions as he walks over to a cabinet in the far corner of the room. He puts his journal and the magazine he’d been familiarizing himself with on top of the cabinet before reaching inside for two glasses and a bottle of scotch.

“Just taking the poor girl under my wing,” Hunter answers, lining up a single line of coke. “Parents called while you were out,” he adds, and snorts the line of coke.

“Great.” Sebastian walks over with their drinks, places one of them in front of Hunter. “How is your impotent father enjoying Bali?”

“He suspects that your gold-digging whore of a mother is servicing the pool boy,” Hunter answers, putting his things back in their hiding place.

Sebastian sits down on Hunter’s desk. “Good.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Hunter asks, regarding his brother curiously. It’s not like Sebastian to be in such bad spirits around him. “Therapy not going well?”

“I’m in a rut.” Sebastian shrugs, takes a sip from his glass. “I’m sick of sleeping with these closeted gay boys worshipping at the altars of their straight Republican fathers.” He looks at Hunter, hoping the words set something off—it’s no secret between the brothers that Hunter keeps his sexuality hidden from his father—but Hunter doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s losing his touch. Or is it that Hunter is in a really good mood?

“And what about the insipid Manhattan debutantes?”

“Equally boring,” Sebastian sighs. “Nothing shocks them anymore.”

“Well, you can relax.” Hunter picks up his glass. “I have a mission for you.”

Sebastian eyes his brother. “And what might that be?”

“I want you to seduce our young Rachel Berry.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Word around town is that a certain Brody—”

“This isn’t still about Weston is it? When are you going to let that go?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never tasted the bitter tang of defeat and not wanted payback, brother,” Hunter snaps. “That directing position should’ve been mine.”

“Oh, I see,” Sebastian says, still amused by the curious turn of events the ‘Cassie situation’ – as he so delicately refers to it – had taken. He’d only met the woman once, but he praised himself lucky he hadn’t decided to pursue a career on the stage. “So this is really about you sleeping with Cassie but losing the position to someone who didn’t have to.”

“I put a lot of effort in Cassandra July, Sebastian,” Hunter says. “I made great personal sacrifices to keep her happy.”

Sebastian idly wonders exactly what ‘great personal sacrifices’ means to Hunter. She close to tortured Hunter his entire first year at NYADA, probably because being the President’s son had quickly put him on her radar—how exactly he’d managed to loosen her tight-laced panties was a secret Hunter was determined to keep to himself. Sebastian might be flexible in who he fucks, but he knows Hunter’s far pickier.

“And then she turns around and has Brody co-direct the summer production with her,” Hunter says. “This hurt my feelings.”

Sebastian smiles.

“But when I heard that Brody had fallen for none other than Rachel Berry herself—”

“So that’s what this is about.”

Hunter gets up from behind his desk. “ _Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer_. When I’m done with Rachel Berry she’ll be the premier tramp of the New York area. And poor Brody’s little princess will be damaged goods.”

“Why go after Rachel?” Sebastian asks, grabs Hunter’s glass for a refill, wanders across the room. “Cassie’s the one who chose Brody.”

“She’s a washed-up Broadway wannabe who drinks too much,” Hunter answers absentmindedly, eyeing his beloved trophies. “She caused her own downfall before and she’ll do it again. Brody, on the other hand—”

“Could get in the way of your blossoming career,” Sebastian realizes. He knows his brother as well as he knows himself, even though Hunter likes to pretend otherwise. After three years in the same house Hunter should really know they’re two of a kind.

“But any attack made on Brody could be traced back to me,” Hunter says, tracking towards Sebastian. “And I can’t allow that to happen. Everybody loves me.”

Hunter halts behind Sebastian, eyeing his ass. “Come on,” he insists. He puts a hand down on Sebastian’s shoulder, drawing down his back, hands warm even through two layers of clothing.

“She’s easy on the eyes,” Hunter says. “A young virgin ripe for the plucking.”

Hunter’s hand moves further down, the other around his brother’s waist, down his abdomen, slowly making its way into the waistband of his trousers.

Sebastian’s breath hitches in his throat when Hunter cups his ass, the fingers on his other hand inching into his pants, coming achingly close to his cock and some well applied pressure. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want more. He recognizes this tactic all too well—he’s never used it on Hunter, but Hunter’s employed it on countless occasions already.

It doesn’t work every time.

“A tight, firm ass.” Hunter squeezes Sebastian’s ass, his groin settling just below his ass. Sebastian stifles back a growl; Hunter always manages so much more control than him. “Uncharted booty.”

Hunter’s lips settle at the back of his neck, the tip of his tongue ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Be her Captain Picard, Smythe,” he says. “Boldly go where no man has gone before.”

Has Hunter been listening to a word he said?

“I can’t,” Sebastian says, any temptation disappearing the moment he realizes Rachel Berry would be easy pickings. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Hunter jump through a few hoops to get what he wants.

Hunter takes an abrupt step back. “Why not?”

“It’s too easy, Hunter,” Sebastian says, only mildly disconcerted by the sudden lack of physical contact—Hunter knows how to play him far too well. He supposes that’s his own fault for making it so easy sometimes. “Get one of your moron friends to do it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“But fucking the therapist’s daughter is a challenge.”

Sebastian turns around and smiles. “She was overcharging,” he says.

Hunter’s right, of course, Marley Rose turned out too easy for a girl that profiled as a confident self-made socialite, a straight-A student, but in his experience it’s those who smile the widest that turn out the most vulnerable.

He reaches back for his magazine and presents it to Hunter. “ _This_ is a challenge.”

“ _‘QR Magazine. Young. Gay. Now’_?” Hunter reads one of the taglines, and looks at him. “Since when do you read this shit?”

“Shut up and turn to page 12.”

Hunter reluctantly opens the magazine to the appropriate page, scanning the two-page spread quickly. There are pictures of a fairly easy-on-the-eyes boy surrounded by four rows of text. “ _‘Why I Plan To Wait by Blaine Anderson’_ ,” he reads out loud. “Is this Thomas Anderson’s son?” Hunter asks, but the words on the page catch his attention before he can give it any further thought.

The first few paragraphs offered a short bio – _eighteen years old, openly gay son of Senator Thomas Anderson, undecided on academic future_ – immediately followed by the start of a manifesto that outlined why he was waiting to have his virginity plucked.

“Jesus Christ, is he for real?”

“Daddy’s pride and joy if you can believe it,” Sebastian says. “Kind of anyway.” He guesses the Senator would have preferred a straight son, despite his platform supporting gay rights. “Apparently he’s a paradigm of chastity and virtue.”

Sebastian snatches the magazine from Hunter’s hands, reading through the article for what must be the fifth time. “Let’s see—” he says, eyes scanning the page quickly. “Boring, boring, boring,” _–_ he halts at a particularly funny line– “ _‘I love my parents.’_ ”

Hunter chuckles.

“Boring, boring, boring,” Sebastian continues, skipping through the unimportant paragraphs. “ _‘Making a mature decision.’_ ”

And then he hits the line he’s been looking for: “Here!” he exclaims. “He has a boyfriend named Kurt. Last name redacted for obvious reasons. Going out for a year.” He smiles wide. “ _Kurt understands_.”

“Kurt’s a prissy fag with a stick up his ass,” Hunter provides, sits down in the chair previously occupied by Shelby Corcoran, hoisting his feet up to rest on his desk. “Too bad _Blaine_ is a Senator’s son and surrounded by bodyguards 24/7.”

“ _Au contraire_ , brother,” Sebastian says. “The virgin’s father’s so busy with his campaign that Blaine will be staying at my aunt’s house to get away from all the commotion.” He settles down in the other chair and looks at his stepbrother. “Can you imagine what this will do for my reputation? Screwing a Senator’s virginal son?”

A very good-looking virginal son, he’d immediately noted; the jet-black hair, the hazel eyes, one killer smile, strong arms, and a penchant it seemed to accentuate those arms with some seriously tight shirts.

“He’ll be my greatest victory.”

“You don’t stand a chance,” Hunter says. There’s a part of him that wants to grant Sebastian this victory, but the competitor in him wants to challenge his brother. And there’s only one sure-fire way of doing so: denying it. “This is way out of your league.”

“Care to make a wager on that?”

Hunter shrugs. His good mood has taken a turn for the worse, so he doesn’t want to give Sebastian his way too easily. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

“Suit yourself.” Sebastian says, and gets up from his chair. He grabs his journal and heads for the door. “I’ll be in my study if you reconsider. Dr Del Monico and her daughter should make for an exciting entry.”

“Ah yes, your precious journal.” Hunter sighs. “Could you be more queer?”

“Could you be more desperate to read it?” Sebastian calls back, crossing the hall and opening the double doors to his own office.

Unlike Hunter’s office, which is open and light and has modern overtones, Sebastian’s office is lined with dark wood and has an overall more classic look. His mother had brought in a designer who took one look at both him and Hunter and he’d set up the rooms for them as if he’d known them their entire lives. Then again, for the money his mother paid the man could have very well been a psychic.

Sebastian drops his things on the desk, loosening his tie to get a little more room to breathe.

“About that little wager of yours…” Hunter’s voice sounds from the doorway. “Count me in.”

Sebastian turns and looks at his brother, tries to determine whether or not Hunter’s being serious, but he finds no reason to doubt him. “What are the terms?” Sebastian asks, closes the distance between them.

Hunter purses his lips. “If I win, then that hot little car of yours is mine.”

“And if I win?” Sebastian asks, not ready to think about the possibility of him giving up his car. It was his father’s car, and even though they never had the best relationship, his Jaguar was one fine piece of machinery he’d have a hard time parting with.

Hunter smirks. He curls a hand around Sebastian’s tie. “I’ll give you something you’ve been obsessing about since our parents got married.”

Sebastian’s eyes dig into Hunter’s: he knows his brother, he’ll have to spell it out before he agrees to any sort of bet. “Be. More. Specific,” he enunciates clearly, eyes zooming in on Hunter’s lips, so close to his own. He’s kissed those lips before, licked and bit at them and there’s been some groping, but it’s never gone beyond that. Hunter isn’t seriously suggesting—?

“In English?” Hunter gives Sebastian’s tie a firm tug, sending jolts of excitement up the younger boy’s spine. “I’ll fuck your brains out.”

Sebastian tilts his head, breathes in deep, refrains from licking his lips. “What makes you think I’ll go for that? That car’s a 1956 Jaguar Roadster.”

“Because I’m the only person you can’t have and it kills you.”

Sebastian smirks. “No way,” he says, leaning even closer.

The two inches he has on Hunter only ever prove useful in situations like these, standing taller than his brother, however slightly, but it balances out Hunter’s constant insistence that he’s the oldest of the two and for some reason that means he gets to make the majority of the decisions that affect both their lives. Right now he’s certain Hunter has some hidden agenda, wants to watch him walk all over himself to get Blaine’s attention, maybe even attempt to mess up his plans with Blaine.

Unless Hunter’s looking for some subtle way to tell him he really does want to fuck him. Which Sebastian hasn’t been obsessing about since he met Hunter, but he’d be fooling himself if he denied that Hunter’s been the subject of many a fantasy of his, his hands and his mouth, that well-trained body that he keeps in excellent shape. Come to think, trying to get into Hunter’s pants would probably be the biggest challenge—he could consider this wager of theirs a detour.

Sebastian only meets with Hunter’s unwavering gaze, eyes green like his, neither of them willing to give over control. They really are two of a kind.

A sly smile edges to the corner of Hunter’s mouth. “I’ll let you top,” he says, a concession for what Sebastian would be giving up perhaps.

It’s Sebastian’s first instinct to lean in for a kiss, but he knows Hunter will have none of that and he fears he might just say something he’ll regret. So he pulls back and gauges Hunter’s resolve. There’s nothing in Hunter’s eyes to suggest he’s pulling his leg.

So why not? Why not take Hunter’s wager, seeing as how it was his own idea in the first place. There’s no way he’s losing this. And the thought of fucking Hunter—

Sebastian grins. “You got yourself a bet, brother.”

Hunter takes a step back, drags a thumb across his own lip, and holds out his hand. Sebastian takes it, shakes it, sealing their bet.

“Happy hunting, Sebastian.” 


	2. The Virgin

**3**

**EXT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – day**

 

“Your home is really beautiful, Ms Pillsbury,” Blaine says, driving his horse down the South Allee alongside Emma Pillsbury’s, back towards the house where they started from an hour earlier. It’s been a long time since he’s been on a horse, too long, and he’s starting to feel the effects, his ass hurting in the saddle, thighs burning. He should make sure he does this more often.

“Thank you, Blaine,” Emma answers. “It’s been in my husband’s family for over a hundred years.”

The estate’s impressive, two hundred acres worth of formal gardens, landscaped grounds, woodlands, ponds and lakes—the impressive mansion built in Charles-II style was only occupied by Emma, her husband Will Schuester, and Emma’s elderly mother.

Blaine’s father had sent him here not only because he’d expressed the wish to get away from his father’s work, but it was a well-known fact that Emma and Will were generous benefactors to the Anderson campaign. So Blaine wasn’t just here because he’d requested the time off, he was expected to be on his best behavior, keep Will and Emma impressed, and make sure their donations kept coming.

It still seemed strange to Blaine how his father gave him the same old speech – _be civil_ , _well behaved_ , _smile and nod_ , _get involved in conversation_ , _keep them happy_ – because he’d heard it his entire life and he had become this boy through and through, a son his father could be proud of, followed etiquette and knew how to maneuver in the upper classes even though their money was new and the family had worked themselves up to where they were now.

But he’d been taught well since birth. Presently clad in a black-and-white checkered polo shirt over white slacks he’s been the pinnacle of the dutiful son. Apart from the fact that he’s attracted to boys instead of girls. But he’s well aware that he’s lucky his family reacted as positively as they did—he owes much of that to his stepmother (he refers to her as his stepmother even though she’s not married to his father).

“Does your family ride much?” Emma asks, regarding him closely with her big bambi eyes. Emma likes Blaine; over the years she’s seen him grow up into a well-mannered young man any father would be proud of, even though she’s caught Thomas wavering in that belief on a handful of occasions. But there was no arguing that Blaine would go far with his looks, his talents and his charm.

“My mom and I used to ride a lot,” Blaine answers, staring down at the reins in his hand. “Before she got sick.”

Emma feels something in her chest tighten. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

But Blaine composes himself fast. “My grandpa actually breaks horses on his farm,” he says, nostalgic for the Ohioan landscape, the wide-open fields, the calm and quiet. But he’d promised his father he’d stay close to home this summer to figure out his future. “So whenever I’m there I take the opportunity.”

Emma smiles. “That’s nice,” she says, grateful she hasn’t permanently plastered those puppy eyes on her young guest’s face.

They come to a halt when they reach the south gate again, two servants helping with the horses as Emma and Blaine climb down.

“I do hope you have a wonderful time here,” Emma says, and clasps her hands together. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Will you be all right by yourself?

“Of course, Ms Pillsbury.”

“Emma, please.”

Blaine nods, but knows when to leave Emma to her business: she’s going inside to wash her hands two or three times, maybe even help the staff clean the kitchen, her OCD still getting the best of her sometimes. He thinks Will’s a big reason why she started getting better; her first husband Carl, a dentist if he’s not mistaken, was far too insistent on helping her himself, resulting in raging fights between the two until finally Carl decided to walk away.

Will had given her the love she needed, the love she deserved, and she’d slowly started realizing that maybe there was no shame in getting professional help for her anxiety.

Blaine heads for the house.

He’s crossing the lawn when a car comes speeding down the west entryway and makes an abrupt halt not too far from him. It’s the car that grabs his attention first; he’s familiar with the model because his grandfather had a miniature version of it in his extensive collection of collectibles. Everything he knew about cars he knew from his grandfather and the way his grandfather spoke about this car in particular makes him realize just how rare a sighting this could be.

Its driver, it dawns on him, looks no less classy. The brown-haired boy flashes him a toothy smile the moment he spots him through the windshield, then proceeds by opening the driver’s side door and gracefully extracts himself from behind the wheel. He stands tall in a tailored two-button suit that he probably got at J. Crew, sleek lines accentuating his silhouette, broad shoulders—Blaine feels his breath hitch at the sheer charisma this guy’s appearance manages to exude.

He knows who this is, Emma had told him that her nephew would be staying with them for the summer as well, something about getting away from the rush of the city. And he’s been well informed about Sebastian Smythe, son of Emma’s older sister Sandra Smythe. He expected the clothes, the expensive sunglasses, part of him had even assumed he’d be good-looking, especially given his reputation.

But he never expected him to have such great taste in cars.

“Nice ride,” Blaine says, the words out before he knows it.

Sebastian grins, lets his eyes wander up and down his body shamelessly. “Thanks.”

“1956 Jaguar Roadster,” Blaine says, focused solely on the car now. “From 0 to 60 in nine seconds.” He circles the car, listing facts as he goes, fingers ghosting over the black body. “Engine a 6 cylinder twin overhead camshaft with a 3442 cc incline.”

“A man who knows his cars. And here I thought I couldn’t be more impressed.”

Blaine looks up at Sebastian and frowns.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian puts a hand to his chest. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” he says, and holds out his right hand. “Sebastian Smythe.”

Blaine hesitates for half a second—he might have been warned, but there’s nothing wrong with shaking the guy’s hand. “Blaine Anderson,” he says, shakes Sebastian’s hand. “It’s nice to be able to put a face to the name,” he adds, figuring he might as well show Sebastian upfront that he’s been told off.

Sebastian’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’ve heard of me?” he asks.

Blaine smiles. “I’ve been very well informed of your reputation,” he says, and turns on his heels.

Sebastian’s stomped into silence: and here he thought he would have the advantage having read Blaine’s manifesto. Where could he have heard about his ‘reputation’? What exactly did he hear? He watches Blaine walk up the steps to the terrace, his hands in his pockets, making sure those pristine white slacks hug his ass even tighter. And what a fine ass it is.

“What have you heard?” Sebastian asks, hurrying after Blaine.

“How you promise guys the world to get them in bed with you,” Blaine answers, climbs an extra set of steps that lead up to the terrace, only giving Sebastian a better view. “Lavishing them with compliments but leaving them the moment you get what you want.”

Sebastian halts at the bottom of the steps, eyes never leaving Blaine’s tight little ass.

“And what’s that, killer?” he calls up.

There’s the slightest hitch in Blaine’s step before he settles on the terrace and turns around. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

Sebastian tilts his head and stares up at Blaine. “Who are you to question my lifestyle?” He asks, hands in his pockets. “How can you criticize something you haven’t experienced yourself?”

Blaine huffs. “You’ve read my manifesto.”

Sebastian nods, climbs the steps slowly, until he reaches the top step and finds himself taller than Blaine again. “I found it appalling,” he says.

Blaine blinks, head stutters. “Most people praise me for it.”

Sebastian shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with liking sex.” This boy makes it too easy, Sebastian thinks, lets the push and pull of the conversation affect him without ducking for cover. It’s strange because he’s only just met Blaine, but he doesn’t like to think of him as easy—where would be the fun in that?

Blaine looks up into Sebastian’s green eyes and feels his chest getting heavier. “I—never said there was.”

Blaine’s not unfamiliar with this attraction, and there’s a huge part of him that craves this kind of attention, that likes a guy taking notice of him just for the sake of his ego, but he promised to stay away from Sebastian, he’d vowed to himself he would especially after finding out about his reputation. What would his father say if he involved himself with a boy like Sebastian?

Besides, he gets the creeping suspicion that his manifesto’s the only reason Sebastian’s here.

Still, his looks are undeniable; he’s tall and slim, hair perfectly coiffed, and if he hadn’t heard it from a very reliable source he’d have a hard time believing Sebastian was this person everyone said he was. Because that smile—

“It’s just my belief that people shouldn’t experience the act of love until they are in love,” Blaine catches himself, tearing his eyes away from Sebastian’s. “And I don’t believe people our age are mature enough to experience those kinds of emotions.”

“Now you’re talking about two different things.”

Blaine looks up. “What do you mean?”

“Sex and love.” Sebastian raises both his hands, tips them like scales. “Not the same thing.”

“They are to me.”

“How can you know?”

Blaine’s eyes narrow on Sebastian’s face. “I’m not like you, Sebastian.”

It only takes Sebastian a half-second to react—it’s most unfortunate that Blaine had been told about his lascivious tactics, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give up. Maybe a change of pace is in order. “That hurts,” he says, stares down at his feet. “You’re right, you’re not me, but that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“I’m sorry,” comes Blaine’s expected reply; Sebastian needs all his composure not to smile. “I didn’t mean to—”

Sebastian meets Blaine’s eyes again. “Can I at least know who informed you in such great detail?”

Push. Pull. There’s an art to this, really.

But Blaine shakes his head. “I’m not going to break their trust,” he says and makes a move to go inside the house. He hesitates after the first step. Blaine looks at him again: “It was nice meeting you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian grins. “The pleasure was all mine.”

 

.

 

**4**

**INT. NYADA DANCE STUDIO – day**

 

“Why are we doing this?” Rachel asks, hoisting up her leg to rest on the ballet barre. She straightens her shoulders, takes a deep breath and reaches for her toe, feeling the muscles in her legs stretch.

They’re getting ready to practise the tango, a dance Rachel will need in her arsenal and who better to help her than someone who knows firsthand what pressures she’s facing?

“Cassandra July is a very demanding teacher,” Hunter answers, stretches his shoulders. “She’s been known to single out students and methodically torture them during the school year. Most of them drop out after a few weeks.”

Rachel goes on to stretch her other leg. “She can’t be that bad.”

“She almost broke me.”

Rachel’s head snaps to the right, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Hunter thinks it’s flattering that Rachel already perceives him stronger than that, but he figures his honesty can only endear him to her. After all, if he means to corrupt her he should thaw her out a little first. “I’m not going to lie, your mom being who she is will be a problem in Cassie’s classes, but if you make it through your first year she could become your greatest ally.”

Rachel lowers her other leg back to the floor, eyes catching her reflection in the mirror, suddenly a whole lot less certain of herself. “What about Mrs Tibideaux?”

“She recognizes talent when she sees it,” Hunter says, slowly stalking closer to Rachel. “But she’ll be hard on you until the day you graduate.”

Rachel’s lips set in a tight line, hands form into fists.

“You’ll do fine,” Hunter hushes, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been training for this your entire life.”

Rachel nods, brushing her hair back behind her ears.

This is usually Sebastian’s forte, be charming in any sort of company whether he likes them or not, able to conjure a smile anyplace and any time, even in a situation where he’s forced to think on his feet. Hunter’s different, he likes to have a plan, likes to know everything he can about someone before involving himself with them. He keeps his eyes and ears open, unlike Sebastian, who often dives in blindly and fucks around.

Sebastian calls him picky. He likes to think he’s just a prudent planner.

“So,” he says, hoping to steer this conversation to a more interesting topic. “I hear you went out with Brody Weston.”

Rachel looks up at him like she’s a deer caught in headlights. “It was just one date,” she says. “My mom—” She shakes her head, reluctant to broach this topic again.

Well, Hunter thinks, it seems Shelby Corcoran might think boys are a distraction, but it sure hasn’t stopped her from setting her daughter up with one of NYADA’s _most eligible_. He’s sure Shelby means it for the best, but it’s clear Rachel has her own ideas.

“He wants me to play the lead in the NYADA summer production,” Rachel says.

He’s not sure how he manages to keep a straight face; just the mention of the summer production seethes through him like lightning, it _hurts_ , because he’d gone out of his way to please Cassandra and she’d made him promises—that directing position should have been his, not goody-two-shoes Weston’s.

Their arrangement could have been mutually beneficial: great sex in exchange for getting to direct _West Side Story_ wasn’t rocket science, it was give and take, and Cassandra July had taken plenty. He’d worked his ass off in her classes to prove he got into NYADA because he’d earned it, not because his father ran the school. He’d taken her insults and half-baked excuses to bench him in stride and still kept up with her rigorous exercise routine.

By the end of the school year even Cassandra had to admit he had what it took to be a student at NYADA, and that he was a great dancer. He thinks it was as much his body as his dancing skills that eventually got him into Cassandra’s bed—if it were up to him he’d never land in a woman’s bed again, but sadly the world at large wasn’t governed by any laws of his making, so he’d lowered his standards a few times in the past few years to get what he wanted.

But the depravity of Cassandra July knew no bounds; she’d taken her fill and moved on without blinking. He’d never felt so used in his life, the irony of which had sunk in painfully hard.

“Impressive,” Hunter says, and looks at Rachel closely. She certainly looks the part for Maria, and he’d checked enough of her MySpace videos to know she had the voice. He wonders if Brody wants her for the same reasons. “Do you like him?”

Rachel shrugs with one shoulder, avoids looking him in the eye. “I guess he’s okay.”

He needs all his composure to keep from smiling. Brody Weston, Cassie’s star pupil, head over heels in love with Rachel Berry. And here she is, apprehensive about him. “But?” he asks, curious to know what Rachel considers unlikable about Brody. Personally he doesn’t see the appeal, not just because Brody’s as straight as they come—something had always felt distinctly off about the guy.

Rachel catches him off guard with her answer: “If I’m cast as Maria I’ll be opposite Jesse St. James.”

“You know Jesse?”

“We met last fall when my mom was on Broadway.” Rachel blushes deep while staring at her feet, her reaction to talking about Jesse far more visceral than anything she just said about Brody. _Interesting_.

He’d learned of Jesse’s involvement with _West Side Story_ only a few days ago; the news that a successful NYADA alum was returning to the small stage spread like wildfire. He believed Jesse’s return had far more to do with his initial unsuccessful stint in Hollywood than with any sort of nostalgia for Broadway, but who’s he to judge when Jesse could prove to be Weston’s undoing?

“We didn’t talk much,” Rachel adds as if he’s really hanging on her every word, “but we’ve been exchanging letters for the past few weeks.”

 _Love letters?_ Hunter wonders.

“He’s kind of—old-school, I guess,” Rachel answers his unspoken thoughts.

“Just tell Brody you’re not interested,” Hunter says. “Rejection’s a bitch, but you have to do what’s right for you.”

Rachel stares down at her feet.

Hunter smiles to himself. “Unless you think it’ll lose you the part,” he says.

“It is an amazing opportunity.” Rachel shrugs, settling against the ballet barre with her hip. “But I don’t want to lead him on.”

“There’s nothing wrong with leading him on just a little.”

“It’s not professional!” Rachel exclaims in true diva style.

“Do you have any idea how many girls sleep with a director to get a part?”

Rachel’s eyes settle on his face, calm but serious. “I’m not one of those girls,” she answers perturbed.

Hunter raises his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying—leading him on is nothing compared to that.” He knew Rachel Berry would be a challenge; she was taught by someone with firsthand knowledge of the kind of cut-throat world of which NYADA was only a first taste, but she’s also a teenager—there had to be some part of her that longed to rebel against her mother’s wishes.

And who wouldn’t rebel against a mother who tells her who she can and can’t date?

“And it’s only until you get the part,” Hunter adds.

Rachel looks up at him, regarding him curiously. “Have you ever—?”

Hunter laughs. “Miss Berry.” He takes a step closer. “I don’t tango and tell.”

 

.

 

**5**

**INT. SANTANA LOPEZ’ HOUSE – BEDROOM – day**

 

“Unbelievable!” Sebastian declares as he plunks down on the bed next to Santana. “Some asshole wrote a letter to this guy describing my tactics.”

“Any ideas who it could be?” Santana asks, her legs pulled up to her chest, painting her toenails blood red.

Sebastian sighs, unbuttons his jacket. “Santana, if I knew who it was that person would be in a tremendous amount of pain.” He lies back on top of the sheets, head coming to rest on one of the pillows of the king-size bed.

He’d met with resistance before, had people figure him out before he managed to get what he wanted, but without them knowing of his reputation they were easier to manipulate. Now it seemed someone had struck preemptively, someone who cared enough about Blaine to warn him, someone who knew exactly what to tell Blaine to keep him away.

But did that mean he’d stood a chance?

“Where did pretty boy say he was from?” Santana asks.

“Originally?” Sebastian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Westerville, Ohio. But he hasn’t lived there in years. I don’t know anyone in Ohio.”

“Quinn Fabray,” Santana says.

Sebastian sits up alongside Santana, leaning back on his arms. “Fabray,” he muses, the distant image of a pretty blonde cheerleader coming to mind. They’d met at some party last year, introduced by their mothers, but while Quinn had been perfectly polite to him, that was one frosty princess to try and chat up—he’d realized quickly Quinn wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer and she’d sought refuge with her boy—

“Of course,” he says, and smiles. “Future Mrs Evans.”

Now it’s starting to come together. 

“She’s from Lima, Ohio,” Santana answers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was your snitch.”

“Makes sense,” he says. Sam Evans and Quinn had been attached at the hip for most of the night, until Quinn had been called away to perform some mentoring duties. It hadn’t taken him long to get Sam’s attention, even less to get him on his knees—and man did that boy know what he was doing. That boy had a mouth like a Hoover. “I got her betrothed to blow me at a cotillion last year,” he says.

Santana chuckles. “I don’t think that bothered her so much.”

Sebastian looks at her sideways. “What do you mean?”

Santana stretches her legs out in front of her, mirrors his position on the bed. “Let’s just say that Sam and Quinn’s marriage works beneficial for both parties.”

The true meaning of Santana’s words hits him shamefully late. “Oh, you’re shitting me.”

Barbie and Ken are both gay?

“I shit you not, tall one,” Santana says. “She used to sneak into my window every month and as soon as she came she’d go all Moaning Myrtle on me ‘ _Oh, I’m not a lesbian. What are you doing? If you tell anybody I’ll ruin you_ ’.” Santana shakes her head, seemingly remembering those nights vividly. “The only reason I let her keep up the charade is because that woman’s tongue knows acrobatics.”

They share a conspiratorial smile.

Sebastian met Santana a few years ago at one of Manhattan’s most exclusive yet at the same time most boring events. She’d caught him eye-fucking one of the young fellows performing that night (Nick or Jeff, he forgets which one he fucked first) and later caught him leaving the restroom with Jeff (or Nick, he’s really not sure which was which), the blonde’s fly still undone.

“Careful, flyboy,” she’d said, had walked right up to the thoroughly fucked Dalton Academy Warbler and zipped up his fly for him. “Wouldn’t want you to lose that.”

It was much later in the evening and he’d set his sights on the other one that he noticed Santana sneaking off with a tall blonde he recognized as one of the dancers. _Brittany_ , he now knows, someone who still visits Santana whenever she’s in the city.

Needless to say, him and Santana became fast friends.

“Shit,” Sebastian curses, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Too bad she’s in Ohio this summer.”

“Oh, not anymore.” Santana shifts on the bed and throws her arms around Sebastian’s neck from behind. “She’s attending Yale in the fall and living with the in-laws since last week,” Santana says, continuing in a whisper: “She already called me for a little R&R.”

Sebastian smiles. “Good for you,” he says, then thinks for a few seconds. This could be a great opportunity to get back at Quinn. “Do you think you could arrange a little get-together with her tomorrow night on my behalf?

“Hmm.” Santana smooths her hand down his tie. “I suppose I do have this terrible itch that needs scratching.”

He grins wide. “Outstanding.”

Santana sits back. “It’ll cost you.”

He reaches inside his breast pocket and pulls out two hundred dollar bills. Santana takes them eagerly and shoves them in her bra. He knows Santana doesn’t really need financial incentive to get Quinn in her bed, but he’s been all about doting on her since he found out her parents only allow her a generous allowance during the weekend and holidays. Right now Mr Lopez and his second wife were on vacation, and they didn’t care much what Santana got up to in her spare time. But Santana comes through for him every single time. It would be remiss of him not to thank her for that.

Sebastian gets up from the bed, buttons up his jacket again and looks back at Santana. “What would I do without you?”

She beams up at him. “You’d have to chase all that pussy yourself.”

“Imagine my horror.” He leans down and kisses her cheek. “Make sure your front door is unlocked,” he says. “Shall we say the stroke of midnight?”

“The stroke of midnight it is.”

He walks out of the room, down the stairs, making a mental note of everything he still needs to get done today: google Blaine Anderson, ply him with gifts, lavish him with compliments, fuck him senseless. 

 

.

 

**6**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – day**

 

Hunter Clarington does not like girls. He likes women of a certain age and experience yet not for sexual reasons; he tolerates girls that can get him something. Rachel doesn’t fall into either category. Sure, she’s an intricate part of his plan to destroy Weston and take Cassandra down a notch, but he means to accomplish this by taking Rachel down and destroying her reputation. The only reason Rachel could give him something he wanted was by acquiescing his every wish.

He’d already accepted that this would be a long and tedious process that could take up his whole summer.

And yet, when Rachel calls him up, sounding completely hysterical and asking if she can drop by, he thinks that some force in the universe must really like him.

“Rachel?” he asks when she falls into his arms crying, and he tries his best to suppress a smile. “What’s the matter?”

“She hates me!” Rachel cries. “Cassandra hates me! She said I don’t have enough sex appeal – that I’m awkward and move like I’m ashamed of my body.” She pulls back, tears streaming down her face. “Right now Brody’s pretty much the only thing keeping me in this production.”

Hunter pulls a tissue from his pants pocket and tries his best to wipe away Rachel’s tears. “In that case I’d say you’re pretty safe,” he says, Rachel’s eyes focused tightly on his. “He’s completely infatuated with you.”

But Rachel’s still shakes all over. “How am I supposed to give the audience an authentic performance when I’ve never—”

“Rachel, calm down.”

“No!” she shouts and starts pacing the room.

Hunter sighs and sits down on the couch; so much for karma points—this is going to take forever.

“I don’t know how to be sexy!” Rachel rants. “I’ve never even been to first base.”

Oh lord, what did he get himself into? Sebastian would be so much better at this, but he’s made his opinion on the matter quite clear. There has to be a way to get Sebastian to do this for him—in the past a sexual incentive had worked like a charm, but it seemed his brother had finally realized he had some power of his own. This whole Blaine-thing will blow up in his face though, of that he’s sure, and it would only be a matter of time before Sebastian was back at his doorstep begging for his scraps.

In the meantime, he’ll have to take care of Rachel Berry himself.

“It’s acting, Rachel. You just have to pretend.”

Rachel blinks up at him, some stray tears caught in her eyelashes. “Pretend?” She sniffles.

He takes a deep breath—how can he make this clear to Rachel and have her believe him? How can he get her to do what he wants without making his true intentions too obvious? There’s one sure-fire way to gain her trust, but he’s never really played that card before. He guesses there has to be a first time for everything.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. Since we’re friends now,” Hunter says, stares up at Rachel. “I don’t play on team straight.”

Rachel’s eyes go wide, but he can tell she means no disrespect. “I saw you in _Spring Awakening_ last year, you were amazing! I never would’ve—” she stops, considering her words. “How did you—?”

“Come here,” he says, pats the seat next to him. “It’s easy.”

“What?”

Hunter chuckles, hoping to come over as playful rather than amused. “Come here,” he insists, but only meets with Rachel’s questioning eyes. “Do you want to learn or not?”

Rachel doesn’t say another word; he can see she struggles with the implication of his request, doesn’t quite know whether or not to take him serious, but she decides to trust him and settles down on the couch next to him.

“Wet your lips,” he says. The things he does to get revenge. There’s probably an easier way of doing this, wait for St. James or Weston to make their move, but the idea was to corrupt Rachel, not have her choose her Prince Charming. And he knows Sebastian’s still too busy with Blaine to come to his aid now.

Rachel sits with her hands folded together in her lap, her short skirt hugging her legs tightly. He leans in slowly because he doesn’t want to spook her, but she doesn’t twitch a muscle; she just sits still, her eyes focused on his lips, drawing in a sharp breath when his lips touch hers.

He presses a simple kiss to her lips, quietly appreciative of the way her shoulders relax, body melts, and she moves with him once he pulls back.

“See,” he says softly, makes sure to hover close. “It’s no big deal.”

Rachel smiles, brushing her hair back behind her ear—he’d already ascertained it’s a nervous habit of hers. “I guess not,” she says.

“Now, tell me if this is going too far, but I want you to close your eyes,” he says, holds her gaze. He reaches out carefully and covers one of her hands with his. Rachel doesn’t blink. “And this time I’m going to use my tongue. All you have to do is massage it with your own.”

He doesn’t look away. He waits patiently, versed in the dynamics of this a long time ago, but he can see Rachel make her decision; she starts breathing just a little deeper, licks her lips unconsciously, and nods. “Okay,” she breathes.

He sticks to the exact same tempo, moves on her terms, leans in slow. Rachel closes her eyes once their lips meet and she kisses him back this time. Her lips part against his and her tongue darts out—he licks it with his slowly, alternating with soft kisses, until he hears her whine and he deepens the kiss. One of his hands settles at the back of her head to pull her closer, tongue licking inside her mouth. She takes it all, sucks at his lips eagerly—too bad it’s doing absolutely nothing for him.

He pulls back and looks at Rachel. “See?” he says. “Easy.”

Rachel’s eyes are glazed over. “That was amazing,” she whispers.

He pulls his hand back. “You can always practise on your friend Jesse.”

Rachel blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I see the way you smile when you talk about him.”

“I do really like him.” Rachel blushes. “I think about him all the time.” She gets up from the couch and starts pacing again. “But my mom would kill me if she found out I wasn’t completely focused. She even dissuades my— _brother_ from dating and he’s going steady.”

Clearly Jesse’s not the only one a little old-school, Hunter catches himself thinking.

“Everything counts as a distraction to her,” Rachel adds. “Especially boys.”

Hunter gets up from the couch. “You can’t keep yourself from these experiences, Rachel,” he says. “Falling in love. Kissing. _Sex_. You’re eighteen years old. It’s your life.”

“I know,” Rachel says, but still seems hesitant. “But I really want this as much as her, you know?”

Hunter puts his index finger to his lips. “Tell you what,” he says—this couldn’t go better if he’d planned it himself. “You can always meet him here.”

Rachel’s eyes go wide and hopeful. “You’d do that for me?”

“Probably not what your mom had in mind when she brought you to me, but I want to look out for you,” Hunter says, confident now that he has Rachel right where he wants her. “There’s more to life than ambition, Rachel. We all need our fun.”

Rachel races over and throws her arms around him. “You’re the best!” she squeals.

Hunter’s afraid he might throw up, but he returns the hug anyway. 

 

.

 

**7**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – night**

                                                                  

Blaine opens the glass door, tiptoeing inside the pool room after following the music here. It’s the first time he sees it, the pool Roman-style, the design of the room reminiscent of those found on 1920s cruise ships—he wouldn’t know anything about it if it wasn’t for his grandmother’s love of architecture.

“Hello?” he asks, voice echoing against the walls.

There he’d been, sat on his bed with his reading spread out in front of him, when suddenly Billy Joel’s _Uptown Girl_ had sounded through his room. And he had no idea where it was coming from. Until he’d ascertained that the music was most definitely not playing in the hallway, but coming from downstairs as well.

He’d made his way down here in the dark, not knowing what he’d find. “Hello?” he calls out again, even though his voice barely reaches over the music. “Is someone in here?” he asks, louder this time, taking a few more steps inside, until he sees Sebastian seated in a vintage deck chair by the side of the pool.

“Hey, killer,” Sebastian says as soon as he takes notice of him, dressed in a white V-neck tee and khaki shorts. He points a remote control over his shoulder and the music dims. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“You know this music’s playing in every room of the house,” Blaine says, suddenly acutely aware that he’s only wearing his PJ bottoms and a white t-shirt, and he’d washed all the gel out of his hair for bed. It’s not that he’s ashamed of his curls, but he’d feel more comfortable if they were tamed.

“Just yours, actually,” Sebastian answers, effectively cutting short any self-conscious thought.

Blaine sighs and turns, hopeful that Sebastian will stop playing games with him.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” Sebastian calls after him, but Blaine saunters towards the door again, reluctant to encourage Sebastian.

His hand closes around the doorknob when the music disappears completely.

“What are you doing in your room?” Sebastian asks.

Blaine takes a deep breath, reminded that his reading had been the same reading for the past two weeks and he could probably use the distraction. He turns to face Sebastian again. “Reading,” he answers.

“Anything interesting?

“Yes.” He sighs, his bare feet plopping on the off-white tiles. “College brochures! Really thrilling.”

“Still undecided then?”

Of course, Blaine thinks, that was in his manifesto as well. Just how closely had Sebastian read it?

“Right, I forgot,” Sebastian adds. “You’re all about making responsible life choices.”

“And you’re not?” Blaine asks.

“Not what?”

“Responsible.”

A smile slides to the corners of Sebastian’s mouth. “Not a word that comes up in my therapy sessions.”

Blaine crosses his arms over his chest; he wants to deny that Sebastian has the kind of effect he thinks he’s achieving, but part of him knows there’s something that draws him closer. He’s easy to talk to, despite everything. And he really is quite charming.

“What words do come up?” he asks.

Sebastian hoists himself out of his chair, a fluidity to his movements he’s only known dancers to have. “Impulsive,” Sebastian says, takes one step closer, hands folded behind his back. “Lacks patience.” Another step closer. “Incredibly charming.”

Blaine laughs, an unexpected reaction but a welcome one. “ _Incredibly charming_?” He smiles up at Sebastian. “Really?”

The smile Sebastian grants him in return is nothing short of gorgeous. He shouldn’t be here, he thinks, at the very least he shouldn’t be having a conversation with Sebastian that’s coming dangerously close to flirting.

“I got you something,” Sebastian says before Blaine manages to talk himself out of the room. Sebastian pulls a narrow rectangular box out of his pocket and hands it to him.

Blaine stares up at Sebastian suspiciously, but accepts the gift nonetheless. He opens the box tentatively, the inside revealing a dark fountain pen, one of his favorites, engraved with one of his favorite quotes: _Wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good_.

“It’s from _Love in the Time of Cholera_ ,” Sebastian says, “by—”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez,” Blaine adds, stares at the present in his hands dumbfounded.

It’s his favorite book.

“For when you do decide on a college,” Sebastian says.

Blaine looks up at Sebastian, his heart beating faster, breathing deep. Sebastian’s eyes are shining with the light reflecting off the water, and he catches himself wondering if anyone’s ever seen Sebastian like this; open, exposed, honest. “You didn’t have to do this,” his voice sounds just above a whisper.

Sebastian’s face falls. “You don’t like it,” he says, and tries to grab the box from his hands.

Blaine moves out of Sebastian’s reach. “No, I love it,” he amends. “You just didn’t have to do it.”

He doesn’t know what this is, this constant push and pull Sebastian puts him through. One moment he’s this charming guy who seems genuine, and the next he acts out, says something that throws him off and leaves him wondering which side of him is real.

“Do you think you can pry yourself away from your reading and join me for a swim?” Sebastian asks, sets yet another pace, much more forward this time. Does he think he can get away with asking him this because he gave him a gift?

He stares up at Sebastian.

“I know it’s late being ten o’clock and all but we are reasonably young,” Sebastian adds.

Blaine guesses his college brochures will still be there, and he hadn’t planned on making any major decisions anyway. He looks at the swimming pool, the water steamy and inviting—why not, he thinks, why not have a nice swim with a charming guy who got him a very thoughtful present. Not that he had to, but he suspects Sebastian did plenty of things he didn’t have to.

“Give me a minute,” Blaine says.

 

.

 

Sebastian watches Blaine walk out of the pool room and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth; Blaine didn’t make it easy at all, but at least he’d made some progress. Time for the next part of his plan. He pads towards the steam room, pulls his shirt over his head, but his cellphone rings before he manages to take off all his clothes—he should’ve left it in his room.

He only answers because it’s Hunter calling.

“Fuck him yet?” is the first question out of Hunter’s mouth.

Sebastian smirks. “Not yet.”

“Loser,” Hunter says. He knows Hunter only means to encourage him.

“Blow me,” he answers, and hangs up. They have a strange way of talking to each other sometimes.

 

.

 

What’s he even thinking?

He knows how to be friends with guys, he has plenty of male friends back in Westerville and here, but none of those friendships had started out with the other party blatantly flirting with him. Or criticizing his lifestyle. Because whatever problem Sebastian had with him having a say about how he treated people, Sebastian was equally unaccepting of the way he’d chosen to live his life.

Maybe a little give and take was in order, maybe he should at least try to make an effort to get to know Sebastian and not let someone else’s opinion have so much effect. Sebastian’s reputation stands, but does that mean he’s incapable of forming friendships?

It would be nice to have a friend here, someone who’s his age, someone his father didn’t instruct him to impress because it could be beneficial to the campaign. Maybe being friends with Sebastian could be a little uncomplicated fun.

He finishes changing into his swimwear and heads for the door, but hesitates. He tiptoes back to the mirror and checks out his hair; he couldn’t resist adding some hair gel again, even though the steam from the pool would render it useless. This is ridiculous, he thinks, he’s just going for a swim with a very good-looking guy who’s going to see him half-naked... who’s going _to b_ e half-naked...

This could be potentially disastrous.

He’s not ashamed of his body, in fact he takes care to treat his body with the proper respect, keeps in shape by running and boxing, eats right and gets enough sleep. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy for him to go without any layers of clothing.

He takes a deep breath: he’s going _swimming_ , wearing layers while swimming would be _odd_.

He grabs a fresh towel and heads downstairs again.

“Sebastian?” Blaine calls out, looking around the room but finding Sebastian nowhere in sight. He shuffles further inside, eyes scanning the space before he hears a door open across the room.

And that’s where his eyes locate Sebastian, standing just outside the steam room—

—absolutely and utterly butt naked.

He feels his jaw go slack, his mouth drops open and a heat spreads somewhere deep inside him. He’s seen a few naked butts in his day, mostly in the boy’s locker room at school and he’d never explicitly stared at any, but his eyes draw up Sebastian’s long legs, droplets of water running down the light hair, and then settle on his rounded ass—his very _tight_ rounded ass.

Blaine swallows hard, tries to keep his body from responding, but he feels his cock twitch in his swimming trunks.

Sebastian’s nothing short of _breathtaking_ , all tanned skin and scarce body fat, and even though he tells himself there are far more important qualities that matter to him, it’s so hard to ignore once Sebastian draws the towel swung around his shoulders through his hair, and the muscles in his back flex, making sure there’s a little voice inside his head telling him to walk over and touch Sebastian. He feels his face heat up at the thought alone, of running his hands down Sebastian’s perfect skin, smooth them down his back and grab his ass.

But his cheeks start burning even hotter once he sees Sebastian turn around, still towel drying his hair without a care in the world, and exposes his front to him as well—Blaine can’t even deny that the first thing his eyes do is draw down, not even stopping to admire his abs, but skip to the part where Sebastian’s cock hangs heavy between his legs. _Oh dear_ —

Sebastian looks at him as if he stands naked in front of people on a daily basis. “Would you mind turning around so I can put something on?” Sebastian asks matter-of-factly.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine breathes, whirls around and squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh my God,” he mouths, tries to think of anything but Sebastian’s naked—his father, college, _mathematicsdifferentialsstatistics_ – he balls his hands into fists.

He opens his eyes again when he hears Sebastian wading into the water. He glances back over his shoulder, Sebastian dipped in the pool, ducking his head underwater to wet his hair.

“This is never going to work, you know,” Blaine says, surprised that he manages to sound steady. He’s still hot all over, but at least he’s regained some composure.

“What is?”

“Seducing me with thoughtful gifts,” he says, making his way to the other side of the pool, “Playing my favorite music, when you can easily find that through one Google search.”

“I don’t even get points for effort?”

“It’s Google, Sebastian,” Blaine says, hanging his towel on one of the bars lining the pool. “Even our parents have figured that out.”

“How do you suggest I do go about this whole seduction thing then?”

That’s it then, Blaine thinks, Sebastian isn’t interested in being friends at all, he’d read his manifesto and was tempted closer, and means to prove a point. “If that’s your plan then don’t even try,” he says, wading into the water. It’s warm, and it doesn’t take much time for him to adjust to the temperature. “I know all about you.”

“We’re not going to start this whole letter nonsense again, are we?” Sebastian asks, swimming closer to him.

“I never said anything about letters,” he says.

Where does Sebastian even get that idea?

“What was my favorite part?” he wonders out loud, more to throw Sebastian off than anything else. Maybe if he shows he’s been dutifully warned Sebastian will realize it’s futile to even try and seduce him. “Oh right, _‘even more treacherous than he is attractive he has never uttered a single word without some dishonorable intention. Every man and woman he has successfully pursued has regretted it. Stay away from him.’_ ”

Sebastian swims over to his side of the pool. “You know you could have the decency of telling me who is bad-mouthing me so I have the chance to confront them.”

“Not a chance,” he says, the water reaching just below his shoulders when he stands.

“You’re right, you know,” Sebastian says. “About what you said. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time,” Blaine says, hoping to make sure that Sebastian knows that his lifestyle may not be his thing, but he’d never overtly call him out on it. No more than he already has, anyway. All he really wants is for Sebastian to start acting like a normal person.

“No, it’s okay,” Sebastian says, coming close to him, but keeping a respectful distance. “I mean, look at you with all your morals and values.” Sebastian circles around him. “You seem to be happy in your choices.”

Where’s Sebastian going with this?

“I envy you,” Sebastian adds. “No bullshit.”

Blaine glances at Sebastian when he enters his line of sight again. “Really?”

“You’ve got everything going for you,” Sebastian says, halts his movements until he’s facing him, leveling his eyes with his. “You’re smart. You’re ambitious. You’re incredibly good-looking.” Blaine feels heat spread to his cheeks again, but a very different kind than before. “Who wouldn’t want that in a boyfriend?”

Sebastian keeps his lips parted, his green eyes catching on his lips.

“Y—You know I’m seeing someone,” Blaine says, forcing the conversation his way again.

“Oh yes.” Sebastian smiles, taking a step back to laugh freely. It has a strange effect on him, hearing Sebastian laugh out loud, something very close to achievement. If only he wasn’t laughing because of Kurt. “The infamous Kurt.” Sebastian looks at him again. “It’s funny how you haven’t mentioned him until now.”

It’s _shameful_ how he hasn’t mentioned Kurt until now. He and Kurt had met as kids when he still lived in Westerville and they’d become fast friends. Then when he was ten, only months after his mom died, his father moved him here and began working longer hours to get where he was now. He’d lost touch with Kurt for a while, until going back to Westerville to visit his grandparents last summer—Kurt had been working at the Lima Bean, a coffee shop he’d just happened upon by accident, but the two of them had quickly rekindled their childhood friendship.

They went everywhere together that summer, the mall, the movies, concerts, theme parks, watched TV together and somewhere along the way Blaine had realized he liked this, the quiet comfort Kurt offered, the constant feeling of having someone there rather than coming home to an empty house, forced to make his own dinner—they’d kissed two weeks before summer ended and hadn’t really stopped until it eventually did.

After that they still saw each other—Kurt had graduated and moved to New York to try his hand at getting into the fashion world, which he did when he clinched an internship at Vogue, working for Isabelle Wright.

They saw each other every weekend at first, he did his homework while Kurt made dinner for the both of them, they talked about future plans, watched TV together, scheduled their make-out sessions as to not waste any of their precious time. Some weekends got cancelled because Kurt was too busy with work, or his dad visited, or he was going out with co-workers. He’d ask Blaine along but Blaine couldn’t neglect his schoolwork, not in his senior year and definitely not when he was juggling all that with show choir rehearsal and his student counsel duties.

He’s not stupid, what they have isn’t perfect, and once he starts college things will get even busier for him. But he’s not ready to let go just yet. More than anything he feels good with Kurt because he respects his wishes, doesn’t disrespect his beliefs the way Sebastian does and understands why it’s so important to him.

“He’s spending the summer back home in Ohio,” Blaine says. “He’s really great. I miss him.” But he knows deep down that missing someone feels very different from what he feels when he thinks about Kurt—more than anything he just misses having someone around. Maybe that’s why he’s here with Sebastian.

Sebastian reaches out and caresses his fingers down his shoulder, down his arm until he meets the water and trails his fingers back up. The skin-to-skin contact makes him shiver, even though the water’s warm. It feels more intimate than he’s been with anyone.

“Of course you do,” Sebastian says softly, voice dipping an octave or two. God, he sounds sexy. “That’s why you’re here with me.”

Blaine backs away from Sebastian’s touch, reminded that he was trying to be Sebastian’s friend. Kurt or not, he still has his beliefs and he won’t betray those beliefs just because Sebastian’s really good at this seduction game.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type,” he lies.

“Honestly?” Sebastian asks, standing up to his full height in the pool, several inches taller than him.

“H—Honestly,” Blaine stutters, and backs away further. He doesn’t actually believe he’s fooling Sebastian; the problem is that Sebastian’s exactly his type, physically, and having him stand in front of him, naked chest tightly trained, dripping with water, his eyes drawn to the bare skin involuntarily, probably isn’t convincing Sebastian of his resolve.

So he should tell him why ‘this whole seduction thing’ won’t work.

“ _‘You’re smart, you’re ambitious…’_ ” he lowers his voice to mimic Sebastian’s. “ _‘Good-looking’_?” He scoffs. “Listing my qualities on your fingers isn’t going to get you anywhere with me.”

Sebastian backs away, clearly getting the message.

“The best you can hope for is my friendship,” Blaine says. “And you’re walking a fine line at that.” He lifts himself out of the water, grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist. He doesn’t want to stay a second longer than he needs to.

“Night, twinkletoes!” Sebastian calls after him just before he pushes through the door, the frustration in his voice unmistakable. 


	3. The Snitch

**8**

**INT. SANTANA LOPEZ’ HOUSE – night**

 

He’s in a seriously bad mood.

He was so sure it would work, getting Blaine downstairs, vying his schoolboy innocence with a thoughtful gift (he didn't make that up, those were Blaine's words), so what had gone wrong? He can charm the clothes right off of guys, but there he was, using all his powers just to get Blaine to go for a swim—granted, this included Blaine shedding most of his clothes but sadly not for the reasons he'd been hoping.

Part of him thinks he should feel lucky Blaine even allowed him a glimpse underneath all those layers. And he won't lie: that was one fine body Blaine kept hidden. When he turned to face Blaine stark naked – a well planned and meticulously executed action on his part – he never could have dreamed Blaine would grant him some piece of the action as well: a flat stomach adorned with a love trail of dark hair, perky little nipples, the stark onset of his hipbones making him wonder who ever had the nerve to puzzle together such a fine male specimen and then make him believe it wasn't to be corrupted in the most filthy ways—Blaine Anderson had been holding out on him.

He’d only had a brief glance to appreciate it all, Blaine had turned around at his own request, a test to see if he would and study his reaction, and Blaine hadn't disappointed. The 'I want to wait' motto was one thing, but Blaine had clearly struggled with keeping himself in check.

His self-control would have been laudable if he hadn't been hoping for the opposite.

Everything had gone downhill from there. Sure, Blaine was most definitely flirting, but then the letter (or email) business came up again and he fumed—if this was Quinn Fabray's doing he was going to destroy her. Why would Blaine give so much credence to the opinion of a girl he knew years ago in Ohio? A girl whose life he hasn't even touched? Unless she was really that upset he was able to coax more sex out of her fiancé than she was.

That hadn't been his concern last night though, what mattered was that he’d had Blaine right there, half-naked and willing to have a half decent conversation with him, so his revenge on Fabray would have to wait—the bet mattered now, Blaine's virgin sensibilities and his own generous offer to take care of them.

So he'd showered Blaine with compliments, making him blush in ways it should be illegal to blush but he thinks Blaine needed them—some part of him needed to be wanted or wanted desperately to be needed. It didn’t really matter, he’d become what Blaine needed, a troubled youth who needed someone with Blaine's morals and values to save him from the wickedness of his ways.

He was so sure he’d have Blaine realize he wasn’t that bad a person.

And Blaine looked gorgeous, he couldn't help but wonder how he kept in shape, kept his body tight and trained, and why on earth he insisted on taming his luscious dark curls with hair gel during the day. This Blaine was a different one than his manifesto described, different than what he pretended to be to Emma and Will and the rest of the world. The Blaine he saw last night wasn't sure of his future, didn't know what to do with the attraction between them; that Blaine might not even hold to his beliefs as strong as the Blaine society dictated him to be.

He wondered if the boyfriend had ever seen this side of Blaine.

He thinks it's the mention of Kurt that derailed the conversation, that Blaine knew exactly when to remember that he did in fact have a boyfriend in order to work as some kind of buffer between them.

In any case, he'd lost Blaine soon after that.

What was it about that boy that refused to budge? He wasn't shy, he spoke his mind clearly and he definitely wasn't a prude—a prude wouldn't talk about his virginity so easily. So what was it? Had he been raised too religiously? Did a boy hurt him in his past? Was it a bully? Or had Quinn's choice array of words been so convincing that Blaine had already made up his mind?

He wasn’t beyond admitting that he’d sulked around most of the day, penning the whole ordeal down in his journal to organize his thoughts. All while attempting to come up with an appropriate way to punish Quinn. The obvious answer was outing her to the world, make sure her engagement to Sam Evans fell apart, ruin her reputation. But if Blaine was really taking advice from Quinn wouldn’t that somehow get back to him?

That didn’t really matter either, if Quinn was behind this she’d be helping him rectify her wrongs if it was the last thing she did.

He arrives at Santana’s five minutes before midnight. She left the front door unlocked as instructed, and with her father in Europe for the summer he’s free to stalk inside. He takes his time, and stops to listen outside her bedroom door. It’s a common misconception, at least as far as he and Santana are concerned, that lesbians and gay guys don’t get along—him and Santana have both seen the other in enough compromising positions to be past any self-entitled grudges. They’d even covered each other’s asses more than once. If anything, they admire each other.

“Oh baby,” he hears someone moan from behind the door; he doesn’t recognize the voice so he assumes it’s Quinn.

“Baby?” he questions, shakes his head and smiles. He checks his watch, only seconds before midnight. “Right on time,” he muses.

Quinn’s in the middle of an _Oh God, San—I’m gonna—_ when he makes his dramatic entrance, opening the door as loud as he possibly can.

“Fuck!” Quinn screams and ducks under the duvet, where Santana’s still positioned snug between her legs. “Santana, would you move?!” she shrieks, frantically attempting to put herself in a less compromising position.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Santana says, and surfaces from underneath the covers.

He smiles at Santana fondly. “Hello, love.”

“Jesus, Sebastian, get out!” Quinn shouts, her arms flailing around above the sheets for her clothes while her head’s still covered. Santana looks as if she’s doing everything in her power to keep from laughing, lips pressed tightly together, shoulders shaking.

“I think we’re past that,” he says, barely containing a smile himself.

Quinn huffs loudly. “Look, Smythe,” she says as she peeks her head from under the covers, holding them in place around her chest. “This is the first time I’ve ever done something like this.”

Santana rolls her eyes; he thinks that half the reason she agreed to do this – besides the money – was to take Quinn down a notch. He’d already ascertained that while Santana might enjoy fucking closeted lesbians, she prefers her lesbians out, proud and not sexually repressed. Unless of course she can teach them to be better.

“I was—”

“—really drunk, didn’t know what I was doing, blah blah blah,” he adds.

“Please, you can’t tell anyone.” Quinn’s eyes fill up with tears. “This could ruin my reputation.”

“Your reputation?” His eyes go wide in question. “Quinn, what about your family?” he asks, standing at the foot of the bed. “Or your in-laws? Can you imagine the humiliation your father-in-law will feel when he finds out his blond prince is marrying a lesbo?”

Quinn’s bottom lip wobbles and he almost feels sorry for her.

 _Almost_.

“Please, Sebastian, I’ll do anything,” she begs. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

“You see, I’m not sure I want to grant you any favors,” he says. He’s not a monster, there are parts of him that are susceptible to the odd honest tear here and there, he knows the meaning of a comfort hug and he’s not beyond cuddling, as was the case with Marley Rose, but that’s only ever when he stands to gain from it. Anything else would be weakness. “After all, it’s you who’s badmouthing me to Blaine Anderson.”

Quinn’s eyes go wide in confusion. “Blaine?” she asks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re the only one who knows him.”

“I never said a word to him about you,” Quinn says. “I have no reason to!”

“I’m almost inclined to believe you,” he says. It was a long shot to begin with, he’d never touched Quinn’s life in any way that mattered and he doubts she cared enough about Blaine to warn him without knowing they’d meet in the first place.

“On second thought, she might be telling the truth,” Santana says, reaching over to brush Quinn’s hair behind her ear. She kisses Quinn’s shoulder and smiles up at him. “Girl can’t lie to save her life.”

He chuckles. If it were anyone else he’d probably be upset that he spent two hundred dollars on a venture that got him absolutely nowhere, but he can’t be mad at Santana. Even so, Quinn may yet serve a purpose.

“Alright, your secret’s safe with me,” he says.

Quinn looks up at him with wide grateful eyes.

“But there’s something you’re going to do for me.”

 

.

 

**9**

**EXT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – ROAD – day**

 

He sleeps soundly after he comes home from Santana’s. He’s confident Quinn will give Blaine a call sooner rather than later and right all this nonsense. Of course it hadn’t been nonsense at all, he has less than honorable intentions with Blaine Anderson, and now that he knows it wasn’t Quinn he can’t help but wonder who else has it out for him. He’s certain his therapist didn’t know Blaine, and he’s not sure she’d risk getting on his bad side again. So who? Maybe Quinn will get it out of him and he can start plotting revenge on his next unwitting victim.

“Do you ever wear socks?” he asks when he finds Blaine standing outside on the terrace, dressed in blue chinos and a criminally comfortable-looking woolen sweater with a shawl-collar. The sun’s out, chasing away the early morning dew, but it’s still chilly.

Blaine turns around at the sound of his voice. “Morning, Sebastian,” he says, leaving any comment about his lack of socks unsaid.

He doesn’t like the indifference he hears in Blaine’s voice; he went too far last night, got too forward (or naked) and scared Blaine off. Or maybe he’d left an impression after all. But if that’s the case Blaine manages this self-control far too well.

“Morning, killer.” He smiles. “Going for a walk?”

“Yes,” Blaine answers in short and sets off down the steps.

“Want some company?” he asks, falling in line next to Blaine.

Blaine looks at him sideways before stuffing his hands into his pockets. It’s not exactly a yes, but at least Blaine’s not pushing him away either. He can tell Blaine needs someone around, enjoys someone’s company especially if it means not being alone; he knows Blaine’s close to Emma, and he imagines that’s not the case with any of his father’s campaign goons.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” he says. The words ‘I’m sorry’ aren’t in his usual arsenal; in the past he’d given up before needing to apologize and now he can’t help but wonder if it’s only the bet he made with Hunter that keeps him going.

Blaine stops in his tracks and faces him. “Look, this—” he can’t find the word. “Whatever you’re doing is very flattering,” Blaine says, his hazel eyes torn between guilt and indignation. “But it’s not going to happen, Sebastian.”

“Because of Kurt.”

Blaine shakes his head, looks away. “Because of—” He’s at a loss for words again.

Maybe it’s more than that, he thinks, maybe Blaine’s urging him to stay away because he’s actually managed to make a dent in his chastity armor. Well then, better not lose the advantage. “Do you deny that there’s an attraction between us?” he asks, and it’s not a line, it’s so far from being a line it’s embarrassing. It’s the truth—there’s an attraction between them and it’s mutual.

“I don’t—” Blaine still doesn’t look at him. “I don’t want to answer that,” he sighs, defeated, and he’s speaking again before Sebastian can make a terribly inappropriate innuendo. “Look, we can be friends. But that’s it.”

Clearly he made a bigger impact the other night than even he had realized; Blaine’s flustered, though not blushing, but he’s struggling with something he’s leaving unsaid. But he wants to hear it. “You’re putting me in a really difficult position here, killer.”

Blaine looks up at him and frowns. “How?”

Now it’s time for a line.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says. “And I don’t really do that.”

“You don’t even know me,” Blaine scoffs, entirely unimpressed.

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“Only when it’s mutual,” Blaine answers. “And this is far from mutual.”

“Ouch,” he says, and he’s not too proud to admit there’s an actual sting to Blaine’s words that settles somewhere he’s not altogether sure it should. “Killer’s got a bite.”

Blaine looks away, and he wonders if there’s any part of Blaine that wants to apologize for his crassness. The boy’s too polite for his own good, and he’s sort of started expecting that from him.

“Why would your feelings towards me automatically invalidate my feelings for you?”

“They don’t,” Blaine says, stares up at him, his eyes alight with frustration. “But you can’t force me to feel something for you either.”

“Fair enough,” he says, and stares down at his feet. He’s either touched a nerve or something happened he doesn’t know about, but he needs to dial it down for a while. If he doesn’t want to completely alienate Blaine now he should act like a friend. Besides, he hasn’t played his Quinn card yet. Patience is key right now.

“But I would very much like to be your friend,” he adds.

Blaine releases a breath. “Okay,” he says, continuing down the driveway without him.

He lets Blaine go, for now, because he got a little leeway and after Quinn talks to him Blaine’s bound to give him just a little more credit—he wonders if Quinn’s already made a move to do his bidding.

Only one way to find out.

“What are you doing today?” he calls out.

Blaine comes to a halt, his shoulders slump in defeat and he turns around. “I’m meeting a friend,” he answers, still torn, somewhere between his rightful frustration and his need for them to only be friends he suspects, and it’s entirely too amusing to watch.

“And tonight?” he asks, catching up with Blaine in a few strides.

Blaine draws in a deep breath, but doesn’t let his frustration get the best of him again. “Dinner with my dad.”

He smiles to himself. He has to hand it to Blaine: he’s really trying. “Can I call you?” he asks.

Blaine doesn’t stop walking now, but glances at him to scope his intentions—for once he thinks they’re actually pure; he doesn’t like flirting over the phone, it’s far too impersonal and he can’t judge people’s reactions. But if it’s a step closer to Blaine, he’s willing to make the effort.

“Sure,” Blaine answers.

 

.

 

**10**

**EXT. BEACH – day**

 

It’s a chilly summer afternoon at the beach, and he’s grateful for his sweater, the wind even colder here, making his cheekbones hurt. He hadn’t heard from Quinn in months, both their lives occupied by school and college applications, parties and events and extracurriculars, friends and boyfriends. But she was in the city now, living with the Evans family for the summer and he was happy that she’d called him to meet up for lunch.

Quinn had always been one of his favorite people, open and bright and happy, equally as ambitious as him (he didn’t get all of that from his father) and incredibly kind. It’s nice to be able to talk to someone who isn’t beneficial to his father’s campaign, or telling him his life choices are wrong or flirting with him. Talking to Quinn is uncomplicated and fun, especially when she orders her lunch in French to test the waiter and breaks out in giggles halfway through ordering the main course.

They spend lunch updating each other on the last few months, her acceptance to Yale and his indecision, they talk about Sam’s intimacy issues and Kurt’s total ignorance of what Blaine’s been struggling with—they can tell each other these things without getting judged and that’s what he likes most about Quinn. She’ll offer advice and maybe argue with him a little, but she’ll never undermine his opinions.

Maybe that’s why by the time they make it to the beach he’s subtly brought up Sebastian and how they’re living under the same roof together for the summer. He wasn’t aware Quinn knew Sebastian, but apparently their families ran in the same circles. If he’d known he had another source on Sebastian he would have given her a call himself.

They’re walking side by side, and the tide sets in, the cold water clawing at their bare feet. Quinn squeals and they switch places, only his feet occasionally dipping into the water now.

“He told you he’s falling in love with you?” Quinn asks, picking up the conversation where they left off. “That doesn’t really sound like Sebastian.”

“Really?” Blaine asks. “I heard he says it all the time.”

“Sebastian’s not the kind of guy to keep that to himself.”

Blaine looks away and stares off into the distance; he feels lost, processing too much information all at once, and not just Quinn’s. Sebastian’s confession this morning had taken him by surprise despite all the warnings he’d gotten, and his question of whether or not he was attracted to him, well, that was one question that hit a little too close to home. Yes, he was attracted to Sebastian, but were there any real feelings?

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asks.

“Nothing.”

“Are there—mutual feelings?”

“No,” he blurts out, even though he doesn’t mean to. “I mean—”

He takes a deep breath; it’s a question he’s been asking himself for two days now, since he laid eyes on Sebastian, really, that first moment etched into his memory too clear to ignore.

“I don’t know,” he adds, and that’s the truth of it. He can’t figure Sebastian out, doesn’t know what side of him to believe or to trust, or to trust him at all for that matter.

But if Shelby had been wrong about this, about his ease with confessing his feelings, then what else could she have been wrong about?

“What else do you know about him?” he asks, eager to learn more about Sebastian. Because Shelby has only ever told him off, pointed out Sebastian’s negative qualities without considering there might be more to him. Blaine realizes he hasn’t been giving Sebastian the benefit of the doubt, and that’s not like him.

“Not that much.” Quinn shrugs. “We met a few times and he never made a pass at me.”

Blaine looks at her from the corner of his eye; another thing he loves about Quinn is how easily she picks up on his train of thought.

 Quinn giggles. “Maybe I’m not his type.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Blaine smiles. “You’re everybody’s type.”

Quinn laughs. “I guess people make stuff up when they’re jealous,” she says. “We both know what that’s like.”

He does know what that’s like. It was one thing to come from money and have people know that, it was another to already have that reputation and then come out as gay. There’ve been rumors about him dating guys he’d never met, some girls even, rumors about his father and other women, while he knows for a fact none of them were true.

“The difference is Sebastian doesn’t care,” Quinn adds.

Blaine sighs. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve been hearing some pretty awful things about him.”

Should he just discount everything Shelby told him? It’s not that he doesn’t trust Quinn, she’s one of the sweetest people in his life, but he’s lived in Shelby’s care for almost eight years now and she wouldn’t blatantly lie to him to get him to stay away from Sebastian. She’s urged him to break things off with Kurt, boys are a distraction after all, but she’d never lie.

“Who from?” Quinn asks.

He raises his hands in surrender. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Rachel?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think they’ve met.” He can’t be sure, of course, he hasn’t talked to Rachel in a while. She started off her summer by shopping and looking for a place of her own, and now she’s always off seeing Hunter or rehearsing for _West Side Story_ —he hasn’t talked to her since he started housing with Will and Emma. He should remedy that soon.

“I hear she’s been getting pretty cozy with Sebastian’s brother.”

“What’s he like?” he asks, even though Shelby’s emails had included plenty of information on Hunter Clarington as well— _young, ambitious, driven_ , Shelby had told him, and not too hard on the eyes either. _Too bad he’s straight_ , she’d added, which had caused him to actually roll his eyes at his computer screen. It seemed the only boys that were appropriate for him and Rachel to date were those approved by Shelby.

“Sebastian’s polar opposite if you can believe the rumor mill.”

“You think that’s bullshit too?”

“No one’s perfect, Blaine,” Quinn says, hooking her arm in his. “Your source didn’t have any juicy dish on him?”

Blaine chuckles. “As far as Shelby’s concerned Hunter’s an angel and Sebastian’s the devil incarnate.”

“Well, trust me, he’s not.”

They come to a halt once they reach the pier.

He doesn’t know why suddenly Quinn’s driving through on the fact that Sebastian’s more than people say he is. Sure, he’s more than willing to give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt, but that doesn’t change the fact that Sebastian stood in front of him naked yesterday, flirted with him and tried to get him to compromise himself. Maybe there was more to Sebastian than met the eye, but he has slept around and he wants to convince him that what he believes is wrong. But he won’t sacrifice his beliefs, not even for Sebastian’s friendship.

“Just—get to know him,” Quinn adds. “Don’t let other people’s opinions influence how you feel about him.”

Blaine looks up at Quinn. “He did say he wanted to be friends.”

“There you go.”

He thinks maybe Quinn knows him a little too well. He’d let Shelby’s general disapproval of any boys that could serve as a distraction weigh in too much, so he shouldn’t be surprised that Sebastian had come at him so hard, judged him like he had Sebastian.

“Come on,” Quinn grabs his arm and winks at him, “race ya,” she adds and she takes off back down the shoreline, water splashing all around her.

 

.

 

**11**

**INT. JAGUAR – day**

 

“That nosy bitch!” he shouts over the phone, cell phone in one hand while the other’s at the wheel, steering his car through traffic. He should employ people like Quinn more often, she worked remarkably fast under the threat of exposure. “Are you sure?” he asks, because this does catch him by surprise.

“Positive,” Quinn says. “Shelby Corcoran.”

What on earth has he ever done to Shelby Corcoran? He’d been perfectly polite and civil to her and her daughter just a few days ago, and as far as he knows that’s the only time their paths had ever really crossed. They might have been introduced at one of his mother’s lunches, but he hadn’t actually stopped to have a conversation with the woman.

And up until a few minutes ago he’d had no intention of going near her daughter.

But maybe he should reconsider Hunter’s offer. After all, if he helped Hunter turn Rachel into the ‘premier tramp of the Upper East Side’ they’d hit two birds with one stone: Brody’s perfect little princess would be destroyed, and so would Shelby Corcoran’s.

First things first, he’d sent Quinn after Blaine for different reasons.

“Did you do everything I asked you to do?” he asks, sounding a little too eager. This has gone beyond his bet with Hunter, has from the start. Blaine Anderson was one fine piece of ass and he was going to have some of that, his greatest challenge, his finest conquest. And Blaine Anderson would give in, eventually.

“Even attempted to discredit your brother,” Quinn answers.

“So he believed you?”

Quinn sighs, burdened with the lies she’s set up not only for herself but now forced on Blaine. “He has no reason not to,” she says.

“Careful, Ms Fabray,” he retorts, unable to stop himself from smiling, “That sounds eerily close to resentment.”

“He’s my friend, Sebastian,”

“You could always tell him the truth,” he offers, but when he’s only met with silence on the other end he knows telling Blaine the truth is not an option for Quinn. Blackmail is so predictable. “Thought so,” he says, and hangs up.

 

.

 

**12**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – day**

 

He arrives home only half an hour later, the doorman directing him towards the service entrance, as instructed by Hunter. He assumes it’s because Hunter has guests that he doesn’t want him to see, or guests that would much rather not see him. He wonders if one of those guests could be Shelby Corcoran. And he wonders if Hunter knew she held such a grudge.

He dutifully takes the service entrance to the second floor. As soon as the elevator doors slide open he’s greeted with Rachel Berry’s pleasant laughter. How much time has she been spending here? He peers around a corner into the living room, Rachel and Jesse St James seated behind Hunter’s mother’s Steinway. He only recognizes Jesse because he’d been dragged to some of his plays a few years ago, back when he was still performing on Broadway. It seems he’s found his way home.

But why were they alone and where was Hunter? He doubts he’d let them in here without supervision.  It’s only then that he notices the doors to Hunter’s office are closed. He smirks; this has one of Hunter’s schemes written all over it.

He stalks inside the office, closing the door behind him. “You would not believe what—” he starts, but before he can finish Hunter raises a finger to shut him up.

He bites his tongue promptly, something he’s learned to do when Hunter appears frustrated.

Hunter’s huddled over his laptop behind his desk. “Enough with the music!” Hunter shouts at his computer. “Fuck her already!”

He rounds the desk and halts behind Hunter—on the computer screen is the feed from a webcam Hunter had hidden in the living room a few months before to spy on one of the cleaning ladies he suspected of stealing from them. It seems he hadn’t taken the trouble of taking the camera down.

“You’re really talented, Rachel,” they both hear Jesse tell Rachel, the sound surprisingly clear. “More talented than your mother.”

Rachel giggles. “No, I’m not.” She shakes her head and brushes her hair back behind her ear. “I saw her do Evita when I was five years old and I knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life, but I’ll never be as good as her.”

“Rachel, you singing _Don’t Cry For Me Argentina_ in front of a sold out crowd isn’t a fantasy,” Jesse says, staring deep into Rachel’s eyes. “It’s an inevitability.”

Hunter slumps back in his chair.

“Say what you want about his talent,” Hunter says, “St James is a fucking idiot.” He closes the computer and looks back at Sebastian. “What’s wrong with you?” Hunter asks, picking up on his mood. He’s not in a bad mood, it actually seems like things can finally start going his way, but he feels the overwhelming urge to share his news with Hunter.

“You ready for this?” he asks, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve discovered that our good friend Ms Corcoran is the one urging Blaine to stay away from me.”

Hunter raises an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“I’m not going to let this slide,” he says. No, Shelby Corcoran would pay for what she did—where does she get off on telling Blaine what to think about him? He knows exactly what he wants to do to Shelby and he knows just the way to achieve it. “Any luck corrupting her daughter?” he asks.

Hunter’s face turns sour; he guesses his brother hasn’t been having much luck either. “No,” Hunter answers.

“Tell Rachel to come over sometime,” he says, and imagines getting Rachel Berry naked can’t be much more difficult than how he played Marley Rose. He needed to find her weaknesses, exploit them to his advantage and presto chango, one sexually enriched but corrupted Broadway princess. “I’ll pop that cherry in a heartbeat.”

“But the plot thickens,” Hunter says, hoisting himself out of his chair. “It appears that our Maria has fallen for her Tony.”

He smiles. “How potentially scandalous.”

Hunter sighs. “Unfortunately our Don Juan is moving with the speed of a special Olympic hurdler.”

“What’s your plan of attack?”

Hunter turns and stares out the window, losing himself in thought. “I rat Rachel out to mommy,” he says. “Mommy goes ballistic and ends the relationship.”

“But who will they turn to for help?” he asks, moving to stand behind Hunter.

He’s always admired Hunter’s ability to play the long game, to plot ahead, make sure he has contingency plans in case things go wrong. He’d never admit it to his face, that would open him up to exploitation and he doesn’t think Hunter’s beyond doing that to him, no matter how well they know each other. Hunter knowing him as well as he does is probably one of his own weaknesses.

“I’ll need you to speed up her sexual awakening,” Hunter says.

He puts his hands on his brother’s shoulders, squeezes gently. “I’m at your service.”

Hunter hums in appreciation, head falling back against his shoulder.

“You’re so tense, brother,” he says, massaging at the strong muscles. He wishes Hunter could be like this all the time, submissive to his softer side, one he reserves for so few. Of course that side stems from his desire to fuck his own brother senseless, but that’s a detail.

“I don’t like it when things don’t go my way.” Hunter sighs, reaching a hand back. “It makes me so...” – Hunter’s hand settles over his crotch, kneading his cock through the fabric of his pants – “... horny.”

He gasps at the sudden contact and closes his eyes, attempting to hold on to what composure he has left. “Know—the feeling,” he breathes, half-hard already. He needs all his focus to keep his hands moving.

It’s not like Hunter to exceed the boundaries of a bet so fast, to ignore the fact that he said Sebastian could have him only if he managed to take Blaine’s virginity. But he can’t argue with this, Hunter’s body pliant against his, hand working his cock—he’s fantasized about this, Hunter was right about that part. He could never see Hunter as a conquest because he considered his brother an equal, but what satisfaction it would be, fucking Hunter, getting him naked and sweating, begging underneath hard touches and the thrust of his cock up his ass, making him scream...

“Any luck with your boy?” Hunter asks, managing a steadiness in his voice that makes him envious.

“Moving—along,” he forces the words out one by one, incapable of much more. Hunter keeps palming his erection and the head of his cock twitches, thoughts of Hunter’s lips around his cock, come staining his perfect skin and coming inside that ass clouding his vision.

“Have you succeeded in your task?”

He holds back a groan. “Any—day now,” he chokes out.

“Well, let me know when you do,” Hunter says, hand stilling but adding more pressure. “Until then...” – Hunter removes his hand and stares down at the bulge tenting in his pants – “... down, boy.”

His eyes shoot open and before he has time to register anything at all Hunter’s gone from his arms, a cold crashing through him that’s instantly sobering. “Oh, come on!” he shouts and whirls around, but Hunter’s already left the room, and he hears Rachel giggling again in the living room.

He leans his arms down on Hunter’s desk, hands clutching around the edge.

Hunter really is his weakness.


	4. The Mission

**13**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – BLAINE’S BEDROOM – night**

 

He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s read his college brochures by now. His acceptance letters are all neatly tucked away in a folder, but leafing through them for the third time that night still fails to provide him with any answers. Rachel wanted him to attend NYADA with her, but he hadn’t auditioned so that was one school he didn’t need to worry about. He loved performing, it was something he was good at, but unlike Rachel he’d never felt the need to pursue a career in it.

There were so many other options to consider, and not only with regards to which subject he wanted to pursue. Which school did he want to attend? He could attend a college further from home, far from his father’s reach and influence, somewhere he could start over, a new life, without Kurt and the added pressure to follow in his father’s footsteps. But what if he doesn’t make any new friends? What if his loneliness gets the best of him and he ends up dropping out?

There were colleges closer to home, but those had equally negative prospects, like his father checking up on him, people knowing him. Then again, he’d have Rachel and Shelby closer and despite everything Kurt’s a really great friend he wants to keep in touch with. If he goes to Yale he’d even see Quinn more often if their curriculums allowed it.

It suddenly strikes him that he doesn’t know what school Sebastian’s attending this fall. Had Sebastian decided yet? Or was he not the only one struggling?

His phone starts vibrating on the bed.

 _Unknown caller_.

He looks at the time; it’s close to midnight. Who would be calling him?

“Hello?” he asks upon answering.

“Hi, it’s Sebastian.”

Why would Sebastian call him in the middle of the night? And wasn’t he staying in one of the bedrooms down the hall? How did he even get his number? It’s sort of impressive, he thinks, how determined Sebastian seems to become part of his life, even if his motives are questionable. But it’s sort of flattering.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Sebastian asks.

He crosses his legs at the ankles and leans back against the bed’s headboard, one hand on his stomach. “No, not at all.”

“Good,” Sebastian says. “How was your date?”

Blaine frowns: where did Sebastian get that idea? Unless this is another way to throw him off. “It wasn’t a date,” he answers still, because he knows Sebastian’s fully aware he has a boyfriend. “Quinn’s a friend,” he says, not all too sure why he feels the need to add: “A female friend.”

“I suppose I can’t be too jealous then,” Sebastian says.

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore: was Quinn right and did Sebastian confess his feelings to those he actually felt for? Or was Shelby right and was this Sebastian’s way of trying to force him to feel for him?

“Sebastian—” he starts, but gets interrupted immediately.

“How was dinner with your dad?”

He blinks his eyes open, wondering if Sebastian’s actually trying his hand at _small talk_ and how strange it sounds—but this is what friends do, make small talk, ask about each other’s lives without any ulterior motives. It’s nice to know Sebastian’s making this effort for him.

“Eventful,” he answers, decides the truth’s probably best at this point.

He’d instituted the rule of weekly father-son dinners three years ago, when his father’s career took off and they spent less and less time together. He’d already lost his mother to a horrible illness, he wasn’t going to lose his father too, not to a political career of all things. Not if he could help it. Unfortunately this summer these dinners only revolved around one topic: college.

“Boring,” he adds as an afterthought; it was way more fun talking to his dad about sports.

He swears he can hear Sebastian smile over the line.

“And I thought my family was bad,” Sebastian says.

“He’s been on my case about picking a college,” Blaine confesses unprompted.

He hasn’t complained to anyone about his father in ages—Kurt’s heard it so many times and he got the feeling Kurt couldn’t relate because he had such a good relationship with his own father, and complaining to Rachel had always seemed strange because she loves him like a father, despite having a really good relationship with her own dad.

Why would Sebastian of all people want to hear this?

“Is this really why you called?” he asks, self-conscious all of a sudden.

“No,” Sebastian answers. “Yes,” he amends too fast and Blaine smiles. It’s strange hearing Sebastian trip over his words. “I guess—I miss talking to you.”

 _Likewise_ is the first word that springs to mind, but somehow he manages to keep it in. It’s not normal, he’s only had three conversations with Sebastian and he’s been on his mind constantly, his charm and his wit somehow more endearing to him than in anyone else. But that’s also what stops him. He needs to be careful with what he says to Sebastian.

“A moment of honesty,” he says instead, feels like it’s as close to the truth as anything; he doesn’t know why the thought of Sebastian missing their conversations makes his stomach do backflips. Is it the excitement that he’s allowing himself something he shouldn’t? Or is it something more?

“You say that like I spew nothing but lies,” Sebastian notes, his voice calm and steady. “That’s your Deep Throat talking.”

He chuckles, despite having doubted the truth of some of Sebastian’s statements. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Talking to Sebastian over the phone is different, he doesn’t have to deal with his mesmerizing eyes or that mind-boggling smile and somehow it’s easier to breathe—that should tell him enough about his feelings towards Sebastian, but he’s determined to stick with his earlier resolution: he’ll give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian makes an effort, he’s willing to make one too.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, the question out before he’s sure he wants to go out with Sebastian in the first place. But Will and Emma will be at a benefit and he doesn’t want to spend another night alone with his college brochures, undecided about his entire academic future.

Another breathy smile resounds over the line; it shouldn’t do things to him, but it does, the thought that he can make Sebastian smile. “Well, I’m going out with you, killer,” Sebastian says.

He laughs, his stomach doing acrobatics, and that part’s far more disconcerting; Sebastian makes him _laugh_. He’s not an unhappy guy but he’s only known Sebastian for a few days and he’s completely taken with him. It was a nice idea in theory, befriending Sebastian, but he knows deep down there’s a part of him that wants it to be more, that wants to say ‘fuck you’ to whatever beliefs he holds and let a handsome guy flirt with him, buy him drinks, take him home...

“Not a date though,” he says, shakes his head to chase away his daydream. No, letting Sebastian in would be a bad idea.

“I wasn’t assuming that it would be.”

The mere sound of Sebastian’s voice shouldn’t be doing things to his stomach either.

“Let’s say seven?”

“Seven it is,” Sebastian answers. “Night, killer.”

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” he says, and disconnects the call. He closes his eyes, places a hand over his eyes and breathes in deep, hoping his stomach will settle sometime soon.

He’s in so much trouble.

 

.

 

**14**

**INT. STARBUCKS – day**

 

It’s a simple enough plan: expose Rachel’s relationship with Jesse to her mother, Shelby goes crazy and makes Rachel end things, and Rachel once again ends up crying in his arms. And of course he’d be unable to ignore her cry for help. As far as plans go there was a certain grace to it, mostly because it wouldn’t trace back to him; Shelby would never break his trust because she needs him to look after Rachel when she can’t.

He almost feels sorry for Rachel, overprotected, shielded from these human experiences no one should do without, in love for the first time with a boy mommy doesn’t approve of. The only thing he can’t figure out is why Brody does enjoy Shelby’s approval; it’s of no consequence to his plan, but he can’t help but be curious.

He looks around the crowded coffee house, hands cupping his mug, foot tapping on the floor. His eyes wander towards the barista behind the counter, tall, blond, his short sleeves hugging his biceps tightly—

Sometimes he does wish he could be more like Sebastian. Not only does Sebastian have two parents who don’t care about him, Sebastian doesn’t care what people think of him. Sure, he upheld his reputation of playboy with great pride, but he didn’t hide who he was, who he was attracted to and had zero shame. He knows it’s that attitude that also gets Sebastian in trouble, like getting caught in a broom closet with someone’s hands down his pants and getting forced into taking therapy. But Sebastian’s managed to make it his lifestyle, and for some reason it suits him.

Sadly that freewheeling attitude was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He had his fun and transgressions, but it was always in the shadows, always somewhere he wouldn’t get caught, far from the prying eyes of his father, who would disown him in a heartbeat if he knew his son was gay.

Sebastian had it so much easier. If it was Sebastian instead of him he’d go over to the counter, lean closer to the barista and whisper something provocative in his ear. The boy would blush and bite his lip, but one look at Sebastian would wash away any doubt. They’d isolate themselves to the restroom, or somewhere in the back where they’d have some semblance of privacy. He’d get sucked off and he’d come in that beautiful mouth, moaning his release, the danger of getting caught somehow heightening the pleasure.

Hunter averts his eyes reluctantly, forcing himself into a more formal mindset. He can’t lose track of why he’s here.

“Hunter, I got your message,” Shelby’s voice sounds rushed behind him. He doesn’t turn or make a move, but waits until she’s settled down at the other side of the table. “I came as fast as I could,” she says, not even bothering to take off her jacket.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

“Not at all.” Shelby shakes her head. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Rachel.”

Panic strikes Shelby’s dark eyes. “What about her?”

“You can’t tell her you heard this from me,” he says, making sure Shelby knows what he expects from this conversation. If he loses Rachel’s trust his plan will unravel fast. “We’ve become good friends and I’d hate to destroy that.”

“You have my word.” Shelby nods, pulling her chair closer. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

He nods, feigning concern. “I’m afraid it is.”

Shelby slams her hand down on the table. “I knew it.”

He has no idea how Brody fits into all of this; did Shelby mean to have him fall for Rachel so she could make it into the summer production? Or did she offer the same advice as he did: lead Brody on to get what she wants?

“I’ve told her so many times not to let boys distract her,” Shelby adds and stares up at him intently. “We have a plan.”

“And I would hate to see that ruined by Jesse St. James.”

If at all possible Shelby’s eyes about pop out of their sockets. “Jesse?!” she squeals for the entire coffee shop. “That’s crazy!”

“I know,” he says, even though he hasn’t found anything wrong with Jesse. He knows Shelby and Jesse met during his own time at NYADA and crossed paths on Broadway afterwards. Did her objection stem from his age? He’s only four years older than Rachel.

“She’s so young and he’s so—” he’s not really sure what he’s about to say. He didn’t know Jesse personally, even though he’d seen all of his shows on Broadway.

“He’s an idiot!” Shelby exclaims, making the barista that makes her way over to them jump.

Hunter looks at the barista apologetically and waves her away.

Maybe he’d underestimated Shelby’s insistence on being in charge of the men in Rachel’s life. Was she really so controlling because she’d made mistakes herself at that age and had no one mentoring her? Or was it a specific objection to Jesse because for some reason he wasn’t good enough for her daughter?

“He’s been sending her love letters,” Hunter says, to make sure Shelby looks for the proof herself—it’s one thing for him to say it, it’s another for Shelby to find the letters, read Jesse’s wild love confessions and realize exactly what her little princess has been up to.

Shelby stares down at the table with a pained expression.

“I questioned whether or not to tell you, but we both want what’s best for Rachel,” he adds, reaches for Shelby’s hand on the table. He’s well aware that he’s managed to charm Shelby, and he’s not above using that to its full advantage. “I hope I did the right thing in telling you.”

Shelby looks up fleetingly, eyes unsure where to settle; she probably wants to get home and confront Rachel. “No, I can’t thank you enough,” she says, placing her other hand over his.

“You will be discreet about this?” Hunter asks, fairly certain she’ll do the exact opposite.

Shelby nods. “Absolutely.”

 

.

 

**15**

**INT. ANDERSON-CORCORAN APARTMENT – day**

 

Discreet, it turns out, is not a word in Shelby Corcoran’s vocabulary, at least not where her daughter and boys is concerned. She gets home in half the time it should’ve taken to get there, ignores the lingering glances of campaign managers and interns from behind the glass on the bottom floor of the apartment complex, storms into Rachel’s bedroom and starts searching her drawers. She’s careful not to displace anything or to make too much noise, aware that Rachel and Jesse are rehearsing in the living room.

How many times had she told Rachel to stay away from these kinds of boys? Boys with dreams bigger than their skill, boys that will take advantage of her and drop her like a brick afterwards, boys like Jesse St. James who knew how to spot talent and would leech off her daughter to get them back to their former glory.

She knew a boy like that once, Steven, all smooth talk and precious bright eyes—she’d fallen for his quick wit and charm, for his compliments and easy smiles. By the time she had her chance to audition for NYADA she was seventeen and pregnant with Rachel, all alone after her family turned its back on her. At least Steven had proven to be a somewhat decent father, always there to provide when she was in a tough situation, made Rachel break out in that special kind of giggle that put a smile on everyone’s face. But they fell out of love as fast as they’d fallen in love.

Her dreams would’ve been shattered if it hadn’t been for the patronage and kindness of Carmen Tibideaux and her unique gift to spot talent, even if that person wasn’t sure she was still worthy of Broadway.

She didn’t want that life for Rachel, she didn’t want Rachel to ever experience what she did, to have to learn what rock bottom felt like—Rachel deserved better than that, her precious daughter, who had filled her heart with so much love, more than she ever thought herself capable of. She’d gotten her life together, chased her dreams to provide for Rachel, but it hadn’t been easy. She’d struggled long and hard, juggling motherhood and school and a stint on Broadway.

There’s a part of her that had hoped Rachel would have more realistic dreams. But her daughter’s talents proved undeniable, there was no way around it: Rachel could follow in her footsteps and do all the things she never got to do. And that meant no boys, at least not irresponsible wannabes like Jesse St. James, who got lucky with what they got but never showed any real gratitude.

She knows her reputation on Broadway, knows what the rumor mill produced in the few years she was at the top of her game; how she slept with casting directors to get the lead, how she seduced her co-stars and wrecked marriages. None of that was true. In fact, after Steven she told herself to swear off men for good, that they’d only cause her problems or break her heart and for years that philosophy worked fine.

Until she met Thomas.

He was a broken man when they’d met, introduced at some high society party not long after he decided to enter politics—he was a single father hoping to ensure a future for his son, looking for a way to keep the memory of his wife alive. She told him her memory lived on in his son, that Blaine would have questions in the years to come and he had to make sure to be there for him.

Thomas told her later that’s the moment he knew healing was possible.

She knows that’s the moment she realized shutting out love wasn’t fair to Rachel, and it wasn’t fair to herself.

But Rachel was too young for those kinds of emotions. Shelby had hoped that some of Blaine’s convictions would rub off on Rachel, but it seemed she couldn’t get lucky with two children set on waiting for love.

And she doesn’t care what Rachel tells herself; she’s not in love with Jesse St. James.

Brody Weston was a convenience, civil and cordial—he was a better match for Rachel, but she was far too young for a serious relationship.

It takes her a good twenty minutes before she finds the letters, written in Jesse’s tidy penmanship, quoting the great Romantic poets and books she’s certain he hasn’t even read, all strung together by love confessions that make her stomach turn. How did this happen without her noticing? How can she pick up on Blaine’s moods so easily but not her own daughter? When did Rachel decide to stop heeding her advice?

She makes her way to the living room, where Rachel and Jesse are practising vocal runs behind the piano. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouts, both of them startling so hard they turn around instantly.

“Excuse me?” Jesse blinks.

Rachel stands up. “Mom—”

“I got you in this production as a favor and this is how you repay me?”

Jesse gets up alongside Rachel. “Ms Corcoran, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“You care to explain this then?” Shelby asks, holding up the letters. Dozens of letters, dating back weeks, suggesting this has been going on much longer than even Hunter knew. Is this why Jesse came back to New York?

Rachel’s jaw drops. “Where did you find those?” she asks, hands balling into fists by her side.

“Margarita found them while cleaning,” Shelby lies, but she promised Hunter she wouldn’t break his trust. Hunter’s the kind of boy Rachel should be dating, he was a hard worker and a talented student and he has his head on straight; he has no delusions about Broadway, knows he’ll have to work hard if he wants to make it in this cutthroat business.

Shelby looks at Rachel. “Go to your room,” she says.

“Mom!” Rachel shouts, a warning lilt to her voice she’s heard many times before; whenever Rachel doesn’t get what she wants — which isn’t all that often — she ‘diva-outs’ (Thomas’ words) and Shelby can’t help but wonder where she learned it. 

“Now, Rachel!” Shelby commands. “I’ll deal with you later!”

Rachel’s eyes fill up with tears, lips set in a tight line, anger bristling just below the surface. But she knows her daughter and knows she’ll listen, and it’s only moments before Rachel storms out.

Shelby returns her attention to Jesse. “How dare you treat me with such disrespect?” she asks. “I mentored you, taught you everything you know about Broadway.”

She’d seen great potential in Jesse once upon a time; he wasn’t the brightest tool in the box, but he showed a lot of promise, both in his dancing and his singing. Helping young aspiring artists like Jesse was her way of paying Carmen back for everything she did, and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t a wonderful feeling. She could’ve mentored Rachel herself as well, but Carmen thought it best she let someone else take care of that—it was a good idea, when it came to Rachel she often suffered from tunnel vision. And Hunter had been really good for her so far.

“ _I made you_!” she shouts.

“Made me?” Jesse exclaims. “I worked hard to get where I am today.”

She knows most of her resentment for Jesse is currently born from the fear that Rachel will go down the same path she did. She won’t let a boy destroy Rachel’s life.

“Which is right back where you started,” she sneers. “Hollywood, Jesse? What made you even think they’d have you?” she asks, applying words that are sure to cause the maximum amount of damage. Maybe that’ll convince him to stay away.

Jesse’s eyes go wide, a pained expression coloring his features.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shelby says, “You’re good, but you’ll never be as great as Rachel.”

Jesse casts down his eyes. “I guess that puts me in my place,” he says solemnly, and she hates how calm he manages to sound. She expected him to throw the same tantrum Rachel had.

“You are never to set foot in this house again and any and all rehearsals for _West Side Story_ will happen under mine or Hunter’s strict supervision, do you understand?” Shelby says, pointing a finger for emphasis. “You’re lucky Cassandra was too short-sighted to hire an understudy for you. If it were up to me you’d never see my daughter again.”

Jesse’s eyes shoot up. “I never touched your daughter,” he says. “And I’d never do anything to jeopardize her chances. She’s going places you’ve never even dreamed of.”

That’s the final drop.

“Get out!” Shelby screams, shaking where she stands.

Jesse takes a deep breath, but decides he’s going to walk out of there with his head held high. He’ll be damned it he lets Shelby Corcoran get to him; he worked hard to get where he is and so what if Hollywood hadn’t worked out? There were no roles for Broadway stars at the moment, but one day there would be and he’d have his chance. He’d come back to New York because it was a city filled with opportunity, and the prospect of helping Rachel out the way her mother once helped him was an honest attempt to thank Shelby for everything she’d done for him. 

He never meant to fall in love with Rachel.

Sadly he now found himself in this predicament and his future looked grim at best. He was in love with Rachel and he’s sure Rachel has feelings for him, but how do they stand a chance with Shelby hovering over them? He knows most of the story, how Shelby got her heart broken by Rachel’s father and swore off men for herself and Rachel.

Rachel told him a certain Senator had managed to thaw her out, but that relationship wasn’t common knowledge to protect Thomas Anderson’s political career from any potential scandals. He doubts many of the rumors surrounding Shelby are true, but NYADA or Broadway weren’t the only cutthroat worlds out there, and journalists would sooner make up a story than write nothing at all.

How can he convince Shelby that he’s not like that? That he only means the best for Rachel and has no intention of hurting her? One thing’s for sure, he’s never getting into this apartment again, Shelby will inform the doormen to keep him out. He could text or call, but surely Shelby would be taking Rachel’s cell phone.

He rides the elevator down feeling defeated in every way. He’ll never get a chance to talk to Rachel again.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing none other than Hunter Clarington himself, looking as charismatic as ever in black dress pants and a fitted blue button-down, collarbone showing where the shirt’s unbuttoned.

Hunter holds up a letter, his name scribbled on the outside.

He recognizes the handwriting as Rachel’s immediately.

“Come with me,” Hunter says.

 

.

 

**16**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – day**

 

He’s not sure why Hunter asked him to join in on this part of his elaborate plan; surely Hunter doesn’t need him to manipulate a love-struck Jesse St. James? Hunter knows as well as he does that love opens everyone up to manipulation. More than anything he suspects he’s here because he’s far more relaxed and spontaneous than Hunter, and he’s been around the block enough times to know what to say and when to say it. For all his own charm, Hunter prefers a well-laid plan to the whimsical unpredictability of a heart in love.

He doesn’t know how Hunter’s managed it though, got Rachel to trust him with Jesse’s love letters and convinced her to let him help her—Hunter can believe what he wants, they’re both equally equipped at these kind of games.

“I never knew she had these types of feelings,” Jesse says, his eyes scanning Rachel’s letter again.

“You’re a lucky guy,” Sebastian says.

They’re in Hunter’s office, the place of most of Hunter’s dealings, Sebastian and Jesse seated next to each other in front of the desk, Hunter casually leaning back against it. His brother’s eyes remain transfixed on Jesse the entire time.

Jesse looks up at Hunter. “What do I do?”

“Easy.” Hunter shrugs. “Tell her you love her.”

“How?” Jesse asks. “Shelby will have me shot if I go anywhere near her again.”

“Well then,” Sebastian says, glances up at Hunter briefly. They hadn’t discussed any tactic, but he knows where Hunter means to take this. “Write her another letter.”

“We’ll make sure she gets it,” Hunter adds.

Jesse eyes them both suspiciously. “Why are you guys doing this for me?”

“Because—” Hunter answers too fast, because he loses track of his answer and turns to Sebastian for help. So that’s why he’s here, to gauge Jesse’s sensibilities.

“Because we want to see Rachel happy,” he provides, amused by his brother’s sudden lack of meticulously chosen argumentation. He wonders why that is. “Just because Shelby’s her mother doesn’t mean she knows best. Brody Weston is a tool. You’re the one she wants.”

Jesse looks at him, then up at Hunter, but seems to decide they’re worth listening to. “You guys mind if I have some privacy?”

“My office is right across the hall,” Sebastian says, motioning towards the door. “Make yourself at home.”

He and Hunter wait patiently for Jesse to leave the room, both convinced they have him right where they want him. He’ll write his soppy love letter to Rachel, they’ll make sure she comes over to read it because they can’t risk it falling into Shelby’s hands, and then it’s Sebastian’s move. He’ll speed up her sexual awakening all right.

He’s not sure why that thought fills him with a sudden pang of guilt.

“Who are you calling?” he asks when he sees Hunter reach for his cell phone.

“Rachel,” Hunter answers.

He gets up and snatches Hunter’s phone from his hand. Hunter shoots him a glare but waits for him to speak.

“Before we go through with this I want to make sure you’re aware of the damage we’ll cause,” he says, wondering if for all his planning Hunter has thought about the repercussions of his actions. This goes beyond Rachel; destroying Rachel’s reputation will destroy her mother, which is why he’s in it too, but it could ruin Rachel’s chances at NYADA and eventually Broadway. Hunter’s intention was to destroy Brody Weston by going through Rachel, but where does this end? _How_ does this end?

“You mean the damage I’m personally devising?” Hunter asks, nonchalance overtaking any possibility of remorse in his voice. “I’m aware, brother.”

“Are you?” Sebastian asks, hands back the phone, still unsure whether Hunter’s resolve matches his own. There are other ways of getting back at Shelby Corcoran. “We’ve done some pretty fucked up shit in our time, but this is...” his voice trails off.

What is this exactly? It’s Hunter’s messed up way of taking out his competition while both of them know he’s going places no matter who he’s up against. He has the talent and the drive, he could wreck Brody on a stage without all this scheming in the shadows. But then that’s never really been Hunter’s style.

“We’re destroying an innocent girl,” Sebastian says. “You do realize that?”

Hunter’s eyes darken. “Brody Weston is going down,” he says. “And if you won’t help me someone else will.”

He huffs a scornful laugh. “You will never cease to amaze me.”

“Fuck you, Sebastian,” Hunter sneers, and stares at him with so much contempt he’s taken aback. Aren’t they in this together? It’s true, they’ve done some things that would ruin them both should it ever get out, and that’s tied them together as more than brothers. He doesn’t know what it is about this particular venture that has them in disarray: Hunter’s hate for Brody struck him as petty at best and if anyone asked he believes Cassandra deserves a lot more of his anger. After all, she’s the one who took advantage.

But Hunter isn’t done talking: “It’s alright for you to fuck everyone and get away with it because your parents never gave a fuck about you, and my father stopped trying when he found you doing the cook in the kitchen.

“But not everyone has it as easy as you. I can’t afford to be out and proud because I’ll either get sent back to military school or I’ll lose my trust fund, if not both.

“Do you think I enjoy acting like a saint 24/7 so I can be considered a gentleman?” Hunter asks. “I’m the Mark fucking Brady of the Upper East Side and sometimes I want to kill myself.”

Sebastian feels his heart beating faster. He’s never heard Hunter talk like this, his voice full of resentment—he knows Hunter struggles more than him, that pleasing his father is a big deal to him and even though Sebastian joked about it, he respected that it was important to Hunter and protected his secrets as best he could. But this, this anger, this hatred almost, this has been festering for much longer.

Does Hunter’s resentment stretch to him? Or is this yet another way of manipulating him?

“There’s your psychoanalysis, Dr Freud,” Hunter adds. “Now are you in or out?”

He sighs. “Call her,” he says, shakes his head, and settles down in his chair again.

He has to let this go; they’ve known each other long enough to trust that the other knows what he’s doing. And his loyalties lay with himself, first, Hunter second, and for years that’s all they’ve needed to know to maneuver through this labyrinth of social politics.

Hunter dials Rachel’s number.

“Shelby?” Hunter asks when the phone gets answered, followed by Shelby’s voice but he can’t make out the words. He suspects Shelby’s monitoring Rachel’s calls.

He only catches half of the conversation after that. “I know,” Hunter says. “Let me talk to her.” There’s a short silence while Shelby passes the phone to her daughter. “Rachel, it’s Hunter,” – strangled cries sound over the line – “Stop crying,” Hunter says.

Sebastian barely suppresses a smile.

“Stop—stop crying,” Hunter insists.

He reaches out a hand, signaling for Hunter to give him the phone.

“You know what, hold for Sebastian,” Hunter says, and hands over the phone, his lips curling in disgust.

“Rachel,” Sebastian starts as he puts the phone to his ear, Rachel’s loud sobs resounding over the line. “Stop crying,” he repeats his brother’s words, but Rachel only sniffles and sobs some more. Maybe it’s best if he gets to the point. “I need you to listen to me carefully,” he says. “I have a letter from Jesse.”

“J-Jesse?” Rachel chokes out. He sincerely hopes her mother’s no longer in the room with her.

“He asked me to give it to you,” Sebastian says, grateful he finally has her attention. “Now, I can’t bring it to your house because your mother despises me, so here’s what we’re going to do.”

There’s only silence on the other end of the line now, Rachel patiently waiting for his suggestion.

“You’re going to sneak out and come over here. Say, eleven?”

“I—” Rachel hesitates at first, but he can tell from the way her breath hitches and her sniffling disappears that she heard him just fine and is considering his offer.

“Okay,” Rachel breathes.

Sebastian smiles up at Hunter. “See you soon,” he says, and ends the call.

“Excellent.” Hunter shoots into action and almost runs towards the liquor cabinet. He’s talking about ‘make sure she comes’ or something similar while he makes them a drink, and complains about how long Jesse’s taking to write his letter, but all Sebastian can think about is a certain senator’s son, and their not-date tonight at seven. 


	5. The Date

**17**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – evening**

 

It takes him entirely too long to put together an outfit; he fusses over his hair and his cologne and what colors to combine. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t know where he and Sebastian are going, but he realizes it’s because he wants to look good, he wants to make an impression, and he’s not sure if he wants that for him or for Sebastian.

In the end he decides on an off-white long-sleeved henley, something he bought cheap in the East Village, a bordeaux sweater, dark jeans, and his usual loafers. He even uses less gel, allows for a little more volume than he’s used to, but still enough to make him feel comfortable.

His mom used to love his curls; he’d inherited his father’s black hair, but his curls were identical to his mother’s brown ones and she never passed up a single moment to remind him. Or ruffle through them. She was always there for him, always there to say the right thing or whisper something in his ear that would make him laugh, applaud him even when it was unwarranted. He misses that, his mother’s spontaneity, her undivided attention, her smiles and her enthusiasm.

He thinks maybe he should add more gel after all, to avoid thinking about his mother all night, but there’s a knock at his door and he knows it’s time to leave.

Seven sharp. Very punctual of Sebastian.

He gives himself another once-over in the mirror, confident that he’s managed to put together a somewhat decent outfit, grabs his phone and wallet, and opens the bedroom door.

“Ready—killer?” Sebastian’s question hitches somewhere at the back of his throat before he’s halfway through, his eyes drawing down his body, visibly appreciative of his outfit. “You look _amazing_ ,” Sebastian adds.

He blushes. “Thanks,” he says and closes the door behind him, trying desperately to remember that this isn’t a date. They’re friends, and they’re hanging out. Nothing more.

“Where are we headed?” he asks, and it’s the only thing he can think of to keep from staring too much. Sebastian’s dressed in regular blue jeans, topped by a blue cashmere henley hoodie—he idly wonders if Sebastian gets all his clothes from J. Crew. Not that he doesn’t look amazing wearing them.

“Well, since it’s still quite a reasonable hour I thought we might get some drinks,” Sebastian says, walking beside him down the hallway.

“Sounds great.”

He can’t believe he’s actually nervous, his heart beating fast, his hands clammy before they even make it to the front door. It’s unclear why tonight feels like something he shouldn’t be doing, it’s not like Kurt doesn’t go out with friends all the time and only tells him afterwards. And Kurt has no reason to be jealous— _right_?

Only he’s come to realize he didn’t tell Kurt about Sebastian because he likes having Sebastian to himself, he’s someone still untouched by others in his life and that makes him special. If people knew about Sebastian they’d judge them both, his father and Shelby would tell him to stay away, even Kurt would warn him Sebastian’s not the kind of guy anyone would want for a friend. The only one who might be remotely susceptible to accepting his opinion would be Rachel, but he doesn’t want to risk that information getting back to Shelby. Maybe it’s wrong, but Sebastian feels like he’s a secret. And he’s his secret.

It’s easier to keep Sebastian a secret, that way he can fool himself into thinking that Sebastian hasn’t taken up an important part in his life in a matter of days. Because he’s not a fool: Sebastian was right, there’s an attraction between them that can’t be denied. And it’s entirely mutual.

“Mind if we take my car?” Sebastian asks as soon as they make it outside, the Jaguar parked right next to his black Mercedes.

He chuckles—his car would’ve looked impressive next to any other car.

He supposes it’s a good sign that Sebastian offers to be the designated driver. Not that he planned on getting drunk; he has a terrible track record with alcohol.

“Not at all,” he answers, secretly excited at the prospect of driving in such an iconic car, if only as a passenger.

Sebastian opens the passenger side door and holds it open for him. “Monsieur.” Sebastian smiles, and he would’ve been able to stop from smiling if his feelings weren’t bordering on sheer giddiness.

The brown leather crackles beneath him as he lowers himself into his seat, and he’s so preoccupied with the feel and smell of the car that he doesn’t notice Sebastian walk around to the other side, because before he knows it Sebastian’s sitting next to him, staring at him intently.

He clears his throat. “What?”

“I’ll have to insist you put on your seat belt,” Sebastian says.

He frowns. “I thought these things didn’t have—” but he watches Sebastian pull at a belt from either his sides that click around his waist. These cars didn’t used to come with fitted seat belts, but it seems Sebastian had chosen to install them.

Sebastian grins and winks. “Safety first, killer.”

He shifts in his seat and pulls out the two belts on his side, hooking them together around his waist; at least they won’t wrinkle his clothes.

“I never pegged you for a car enthusiast,” Sebastian says.

“Because my manifesto only described me as a blushing virgin?” the words are out before his brain’s processed them properly and he does exactly what he suggests; he blushes. But he likes to think he can go toe to toe with Sebastian in a conversation without that being out of character. “There’s more to people than meets the eye,” he adds.

Sebastian’s eyes narrow on his face, because _of course_ , that philosophy doesn’t solely apply to him. The whole point of tonight was getting to know each other better.

“That there is,” Sebastian answers, and starts the car. He revs the engine, to impress him he suspects, and a few moments later they’re speeding down the driveway, leaving the estate behind them fast.

 

.

 

**18**

**INT. CALLBACKS BAR  – evening**

 

Sebastian takes him to some place called _Callbacks_ , a cozy bric-a-brac bar that feels like it comes straight from a television show.

“How’d you find this place?” he asks, taking in the room.

“Hunter told me about it,” Sebastian answers, leading them to a more secluded table with a great view of the stage. He sits down against the wall, Sebastian opposite him with his back to the stage. “A lot of NYADA students come here,” Sebastian explains. “It’s not his scene, but I like the atmosphere.”

He likes this atmosphere too, laid back, old school. There’s something nostalgic about it but for some reason it also looks like Christmas; colored light bulbs strung on wires span the ceiling, there’s a small stage with a microphone, a piano and a drum set. It looks like a college bar, more than anything.

“So you come here often?” he asks, even though he cringes at how lame his question sounds.

He really wants to ask Sebastian about his brother, _step_ brother, because he knows that Sebastian’s family’s not unlike his own. He’s curious to know if Hunter and Sebastian get along like he and Rachel, if their reputations clash or not, whether or not he gets along with his stepfather. He has so many questions, but he doesn’t ask a single one.

“Once a week maybe,” Sebastian answers, an amused smile playing at a corner of his mouth.

A waitress makes her way to them to take their orders.

Sebastian looks at him; it seems the decision is up to him.

“A beer for me,” he says. He has no intention of getting drunk, but he needs to loosen up. They’re friends, they’re out on a friendly date, there’s no need to be nervous.

Sebastian smiles, mostly to himself, and looks up at the waitress. “Make that two.”

“IDs?”

They grab for their wallets, both unearthing a fake ID.

“Blaine Anderson,” Sebastian says as soon as the waitress leaves, “you are one surprise after the other.”

“Don’t act so shocked,” he teases. “I’m a Senator’s son, I know how to get away with these things.”

Surprisingly, he’d gotten away with underage drinking the two times he’d attempted it. The first time he’d gone out with some friends on a school trip; they’d snuck out of their bunks at night and ended up at a local bar somewhere in Colorado (he’s fuzzy on the details). He’d gotten so drunk he’d made out with one of the local girls, Sugar, and pictures of the two of them lip locked had circulated between his friends’ computers and iPhones for weeks. But no one in his father’s campaign had found out.

The second time he’d gotten so drunk he had to call one of his father’s bodyguards to come pick him up, and had ended up puking his guts out in the car. The bodyguard in question, nicknamed Puck, had ended up only telling Shelby of his transgression, and somehow the news never made it to his father. 

All in all, he’d been pretty lucky for a guy whose father had him watched at regular intervals. He’s always safe in the summer, especially this summer with his father so busy and Shelby preoccupied with watching over Rachel. As far as his father’s concerned he’s tucked away safe with Emma and Will.

Their drinks arrive a few moments later.

“So, I have to ask,” Sebastian says. “Where does this whole celibacy thing come from?”

His eyes narrow on Sebastian’s face; he wonders how long Sebastian has been keeping this question to himself. “Do you want to know because you’re interested, or because you still think you can show me the wrong of my ways?” he asks.

“We’re friends now, remember?” Sebastian raises his hands in surrender. “I have no ulterior motives,” he says. “I’m genuinely baffled that a guy as—”

 _As what_ , Blaine wonders, and why is Sebastian hesitating?

“... _charming_ as you,” Sebastian continues, “with a boyfriend, would— _not_ —”

“I do declare,” — he chuckles out the words —  “am I making Sebastian Smythe ineloquent?”

Sebastian smiles, and he’s not too proud to admit that it travels right to his kneecaps, making them tremble underneath the table. Something like that shouldn’t be possible. “Seriously though,” Sebastian insists.

He shrugs. “I’m not naïve, Sebastian. I know about—” _se_ x, he means to say, but there’s other people around and he’s apprehensive about saying it out loud.

The grin that slowly opens up Sebastian’s face is nothing short of impossible—yet for some reason his face has the same reaction. Things feel normal for a change, even though they’re _definitely_ flirting now.

“Now who’s being ineloquent?”

“I know it’s an old-fashioned notion,” he says.

“Blaine, please.” Sebastian looks into his eyes. “It suits you.”

It’s not hard to open up to Sebastian when he’s like this, charming and honest, tripping over his words like any normal person might. Maybe that’s why he confesses, why he’s honest with himself and Sebastian for the first time in a long time. His manifesto hadn’t included this, that was a way to launch his father’s pro-equality platform. He was happy to do it, at the end of the day he believed what he did for certain reasons, but he hadn’t felt comfortable sharing that with the world at large.

“It’s because of my mom,” he answers, and stares at his hands folded together on the table. “She was raised religiously, even though she didn’t always agree with her parents.

“But she fell in love with my dad the moment she met him. She never regretted her decision because she found the love of her life and she was able to share—”

He looks up at Sebastian and that’s how he loses his nerve; Sebastian’s open stare somehow silences him into submission. He didn’t like talking about this to his therapist when he was younger and he hasn’t gotten much better at it.

He shrugs. “At least that’s what my dad told me.”

“She died?” Sebastian asks, the caution in his tone unmistakable.

Blaine nods solemnly. “Cancer.”

Sebastian takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess I’m hoping to honor her memory.”

He wishes he hadn’t brought this up; he feels as if he’s effectively killed the mood on a night that had started out much more relaxed. But now he’s broached the topic and it’s out there, Sebastian _knows_ , and that’s more than a lot of people know about him. Maybe it’s even the most important part of him.

“How does Kurt figure in all this?”

He would’ve questioned Sebastian’s motives for asking him the question if he hadn’t met his eyes; Sebastian isn’t judging, not commenting on the nature of his relationship, Sebastian’s just curious. And who with Sebastian’s reputation wouldn’t be?

“We’re not—” he starts.

He’s often wondered if being with Kurt was somehow breaking his vow. His father was his mom’s one and only, and here he is dating a boy, regularly kissing said boy, but somehow convinced that he’s still waiting for love. Was he stringing Kurt along? Was it unfair to put Kurt in that position when he wasn’t even sure if they had anything real in the first place?

“I’m holding out for love,” he says. Only it’s more than that, it’s deeper; he’s holding out for _true love_ , even if that’s a childish fantasy. He wants a soulmate. “And I’m not sure I have that with Kurt,” he confesses.

“I imagine that’s something you know fairly fast.”

Sebastian’s words somehow disguise the cold hard truth: what he has with Kurt isn’t love.

The realization is what prompts his next concession.

“I don’t like being alone,” he says, stares down at his hands, curled around the green bottle of beer.

“Now that I can square away.”

He looks at Sebastian and frowns.

“Nobody likes to be alone,” Sebastian says.

 _Not even Sebastian Smythe?_ Blaine’s tempted to ask, but there’s a silence that falls between them that’s comfortable for the very first time. Sebastian’s staring down at the table and he’s staring at Sebastian, and he thinks this is the first time he sees Sebastian naked.

And he really likes what he sees.

But Sebastian recovers. “Tell me.” He looks up. “Why haven’t you decided on a college yet?”

The question catches him off guard even though he should be used to it by now. But there’s a nuance to Sebastian’s question that others have lacked: Sebastian asks him _why_ , not _when are you deciding_ and _how will you make big life decisions if you can’t make this on_ e?

Sebastian asks him what he wants, not what other people expect.

But after everything he’s already owned up to maybe it’s not Sebastian who should get this answer.

“Have you?” he asks instead.

Sebastian takes a swig from his beer and nods. “Yale,” he says. “I decided to keep my options open. What about you?”

“My dad wants me to go to law school.” He doesn’t look at Sebastian. “But—I guess I want to do more.”

“Like?”

He looks up. It’s strange to have someone hang on his every word. “I’ve always wanted to work with children,” he admits. “Teach, maybe.”

“But?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Your father.”

Sebastian reads him too well.

He takes a deep breath, keeps silent. After all his confessions tonight he doesn’t want to get into his relationship with his father as well. They’ve had their rough patches, they’re both stubborn as hell, but at the end of the day he knows his father’s on his side. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

“Anyway, no,” he says. “I haven’t decided. I still have time.”

Sebastian’s eyes settle in his. “That you do, killer,” he says.

He swallows hard, and tries desperately to get his lungs to reach around this new thing in his chest that’s keeping him from breathing.

 

.

 

**19**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – night**

 

He’s in so much trouble.

Just a few hours ago he was voicing his disapproval over Hunter destroying an innocent girl, and how was that different from what he was planning on doing to Blaine? If tonight taught him anything it’s that Blaine’s a guy with integrity, with beliefs that aren’t there because his boyfriend refused to put out or because his father was a closet homophobe. No, Blaine’s beliefs were real and ingrained in him by a loss he can’t imagine experiencing. He can’t even imagine what it would be like to have two parents who care, let alone how it would feel if they were taken away by a horrible disease.

Unlike Hunter he isn’t even motivated by revenge, he simply got bored with all his other options and Blaine was a beautiful challenge to take up. He’d be more direct about it, of course, wouldn’t jump through hoops or destroy anyone along the way. But he wouldn’t be destroying Blaine either; seducing Blaine was something completely different than what Hunter wanted him to do to Rachel—Blaine would surrender to him willingly, Blaine would beg him, would want him with his entire body and come to realize his ‘I want to wait’ shtick was really his fear talking.

No, he thinks, he had no intention of destroying Blaine’s reputation, he simply plans to solidify his own.

Their not-date had been highly successful. He’s convinced he’ll have Blaine right where he wants him in no time. It was nice, talking to Blaine, learning his reasons, becoming his friend. Because he’s fairly certain he considers Blaine a friend now, even if he does have ulterior motives.

He dropped Blaine off at his aunt’s house at the end of the night, making some excuse about forgetting his glasses at home and he lets the drive clear his head, the wind through his hair, the sparse traffic and the sounds of the city preparing him for the next part of the night. After all, he’d promised his brother.

He makes it back home by eleven; Rachel’s already waiting for him in the living room.

“Miss Berry.” He smiles. “I suppose you’re here for your letter,” he says, as if he hadn’t invited her over.

Rachel skips over to him, a giddy trip in her step. “I snuck out of the house,” she speaks excitedly, grabs him by the wrists for an effect that’s lost on him. “My mom can’t know about this.”

“It’ll be our little secret.”

He leads her into his bedroom, where he’d strategically placed Jesse’s letter on top of the sheets. He’s patient, gives her time to read Jesse’s letter a few times, and appreciates her from afar: the way she bites down on her bottom lip every few lines, her dress low-cut enough to reveal her supple breasts, her skirt long enough to leave something to his imagination.

He hadn’t yet decided how to approach her, how to get her to trust him. He wants her to come to him, unzip that cute flowery dress herself, ideally even ask him for it, because as much as he likes playing his brother’s games, he has no desire to make Rachel do anything she doesn’t want to do. If she says no he’ll let her go.

He’d just try again later.

Rachel settles down on his bed to write Jesse a letter of her own, somehow dead set on keeping up this outdated way of communication—luckily this works to his advantage.

He changes into a t-shirt and a pair of slacks in the bathroom, and by the time he makes it back to his bedroom Rachel’s putting the finishing touches to her letter, lying on her stomach on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles. He opens a drawer and takes out his camera, planning on immortalizing those legs for his journal.

“Done!” Rachel exclaims, and sits up on the bed, holding up her letter in triumph. She looks up at him when she notices the camera, her bangs covering her eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“Taking your picture,” he answers, and takes a few steps closer. “You have killer legs.”

Rachel smiles and brushes her hair back behind her ear. “Thank you.”

He snaps the first picture. “I don’t care what your dance teacher says,” he notes. “You’re sexy as hell.”

“But I don’t know anything about—sex,” Rachel says, blushing deep.

He smiles, but it’s hidden from sight behind the camera. “What do you want to know?” he asks as inconspicuous as he can manage.

It’s silent for a few moments as Rachel chews her lips. Clearly she needs another little push.

“It’s only natural that you’re curious, Rachel.”

“I thought you were gay.”

He’s not sure why his sexuality would exclude any knowledge about sex, but he thinks she’s mostly questioning whether he knows something about ‘straight’ sex. He’s never put much thought into the difference, in the end it’s about bodies and pleasure and knowing what you like; once he learned what he liked a gender didn’t come into play anymore.

And labels were for people who actually cared about gossip.

“It’s true that I have a distinct preference for the male physiology,” he answers. “But there’s something about a woman’s body that needs to be—”

“Corrupted?” Rachel offers, her eyes going wide.

He lowers the camera to his chest. “You’ve been hanging around Hunter too much.” He smirks. “Or listening to your mother.”

 _Or_ Rachel Berry isn’t as innocent as Hunter made her out to be; she’s throwing herself at him without taking much care. He stalks over to her, closing the distance between them—he reaches out and brushes her hair back behind her shoulder.

He leans down to meet her eyes. “I was going to say captured.”

“What does my mother have to do with this?”

He takes a step back, raises his camera to his eyes again. “You mean she didn’t tell you to avoid me whenever you’re over here?”

Rachel casts down her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m used to it.”

Rachel’s the one who comes closer now. “I think she’s wrong,” she says, twirling her hair around her index finger. “I like you.”

He pulls the camera aside. “Thanks,” he says. He towers over her, but it doesn’t seem to faze Rachel.

“You know your brother kissed me,” Rachel says.

He reaches out again but this time he brushes the back of his fingers over her cheek. “Did he now?”

“To—to help with my acting,” Rachel stutters. “I know he doesn’t usually—kiss girls.”

Sebastian stares down into her eyes, inches away from her. “Rachel,” he says calmly, even though the confession that Hunter admitted that to Rachel comes as quite a shock. “Use your words.”

Rachel swallows hard. “I’d be okay if you wanted to—kiss me,” she says softly, body shaking with nerves.

He didn’t think she’d be this easy, that she’d just come out and say it, but maybe he’d underestimated Hunter’s skill. Maybe he did convince her it’s okay to want to learn from someone with experience. It’s a philosophy he’d recommend to anyone. How else does one learn the intricacies of pleasure?

He cups her cheek and leans in, moving deliberately slow. He needs her to come to him, surrender herself without another push. Rachel reaches up on her toes, but he holds back, brushing his lips against hers. This is the only area in which he knows when to exert patience.

Rachel whimpers and fists his shirt, unsteady on her legs. He slides a hand into her hair and pulls her flush against him, dipping down low, tongue licking into her mouth. Rachel meets his every move, both hands groping his chest, lips and tongue moving against his. He lets Rachel take over, raising herself as high as she can, all hands and lips and tongue.

One thing’s certain: Rachel Berry does not lack passion.

He pulls back and stares down into her eyes.

“Was that okay?” Rachel whispers, breathing hard.

He nods, caressing his fingers down her neck. “I’d really like to kiss you again.”

Rachel raises herself on her toes—

“Not here,” –he places his index finger over her lips while he pulls back further to eye her crotch– “Down there.”

Rachel looks down as well, taking a moment to let his words sink in. Her head snaps back up, eyes riddled with confusion. “ _Hu_?” she exclaims, lacking any lady-like quality.

He presses another kiss to her lips. “You’re so sexy, Rachel,” he says and starts raining kisses down her neck, small and lingering. “I just want to kiss you,” he mutters against her skin.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rachel moans.

He pulls back and gauges her reaction, but Rachel has her eyes closed now, her lips parted.

As much as he prefers a male body there’s something about an untouched one, male or female, to get to touch it for the first time, to mark it and mold it into something new. There’s power in it, teaching someone about their own desires. Hunter hates virgins, prefers experience over fumbling fools, but Sebastian’s always found something strangely endearing about it. And he doesn’t think Rachel Berry will disappoint.

He goes to his knees in front of her, locking eyes with her as his hands creep under her dress, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. He peels them down slowly, never loses eye contact, hands moving down her legs and he revels in this, the silky smooth skin so untouched, so unnerved, the small hitches in Rachel’s breathing, parting lips as she steps out of her panties.

Rachel bites down on her bottom lip.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” he says, fingers drawing circles up the inside of her thigh.

Rachel’s breathing deepens, but he doesn’t detect an ounce of fear in her eyes. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers.

“Then just relax.”

He doesn’t release her eyes for long moments, but his fingers keep going, coming closer and closer to her pussy, her skin so incredibly warm. He loves what he’s doing to her, her chest heaving, fingers digging into the duvet covering the bed, soft goosebumps spreading in his fingers’ wake.

It’s only when Rachel nods that he averts his eyes, redirecting all his attention to making Rachel feel good. He ducks his head under her skirt, grabs holds of the back of her knees and draws his nose over the inside of her thigh, his lips following, then his tongue.

A shiver shakes through Rachel’s body.

 

.

 

She’s never felt this alive. It’s like every cell in her body has caught fire and she feels Sebastian _everywhere_ ; her skin’s flushed hot all over and her heart’s beating like crazy, her body pulsing in places she’s never paid much attention to. If at all possible Sebastian’s breath against her thigh feels even hotter, his lips scalding against her skin—and then she feels his tongue.

“Sebastian, that—”

It feels strange at first, the tip of Sebastian’s tongue against her folds and her first instinct is to be disgusted— _why would anyone ever want to kiss her there?_ —but then his hands force her legs open wider and he licks deeper, brushing her clit and that tickles at first, until he does it again, and again, _and again_ , and the pulsing between her legs shoots throughout her entire body.

“Oh my God!” she breathes. Her knees turn jelly, legs disappear from under her, but Sebastian’s anticipated her fall, because next thing she knows she’s lying on her back on the bed, Sebastian’s strong hold on her legs never wavering. Her skin flushes and she breaks out in a sweat, chest heaving, something new and hot coiling inside her and she wants _more_ —

And it seems Sebastian knows that too. His tongue draws a wet hot line all over her pussy, all the way up and back down, lower this time because he has a better angle and the tip of his tongue probes her entrance.

She cries out at the new sensation, Sebastian at the most intimate part of her body, overwhelming but wanted, her fingers digging into the covers, looking for something to hold onto—and then suddenly Sebastian’s fingers are there too, one easing inside her, pulling in and out and setting a steady pace. She pulls her legs up instinctively, spreading them further and one of her hands reaches out to tangle in Sebastian’s hair.

She doesn’t know how long they’re positioned like that, all she knows is Sebastian’s mouth doing things to her she didn’t think were possible, two fingers pushing inside, scissoring and coaxing, pleasure rippling up her spine, pulsing and pounding and shaking and she’s completely at his mercy, even though Sebastian’s the one in the obvious submissive position.

She whimpers and keens, body coiling tighter and tighter, her toes curling and legs drawing up, breath ragged and rushed—she knows what this is, she knows what’s coming and the thought rages through her like fire. It’s when she feels Sebastian stutter against her and moan against her wet pussy that she loses it, unravels underneath him, _orgasms for the first time_.

Sebastian works her through it, keeps licking until she’s spent, the pleasure making way for a calm her body hasn’t know before. She’s never let go like this.

Her fingers relax in Sebastian’s hair; he kisses the inside of her thigh and stays there for a while, breathing hard against her. She wonders if he got off too.

Sebastian extracts himself from between her legs too soon, and moves to lie down next to her.

She turns her head to look at him, drawing the back of his hand over his face. She’s never understood where her mother’s disdain of certain boys comes from; she approves of Hunter and Brody, but not Jesse or Sebastian—she doesn’t like Kurt with Blaine and warned him away from Sebastian as well. But what’s wrong with Sebastian?

She knows her dad broke her mom’s heart, but at the end of the day he did get his act together and took care of them the best he could, in his own way. He provided for them what little money he could spare and he was always there for them, even if it was out of some strange sense of duty. But how was that different from what Thomas provided? How do you love one person one day and then decide you don’t anymore? She’s never been in love but she’s sure it can’t be that black and white.

And despite everything, her mother’s living proof no one chooses who they fall in love with.

She thinks she loves Jesse, but her body had never been so drawn to anyone as it was to Sebastian tonight. And the thought that she turned him on too, well, that was seriously hot.

But does that mean she loves him too?


	6. The Turn

**20**

**EXT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – SOUTH GARDEN – day**

 

It’s a warm summer day, there’s no breeze to relieve the heat or clouds for the sun to hide behind, so the shade’s both comforting and welcome. There are two tables out on the lawn, shaded from the sun by two tall trees. Emma and Will are entertaining friends at one table, while Blaine and Rachel have secluded themselves to the other, finally able to catch up on each other’s lives.

Rachel does most of the talking, excitedly telling him about NYADA and her hellish dance teacher, about rehearsals for _West Side Story_ starting up and Jesse St. James. Blaine can tell from the way she’s talking about him that Rachel and Jesse have grown close, and that maybe Rachel’s hoping it’ll become something more.

She talks fast and blushes, trips over her words as she goes and he’s not used to seeing Rachel like this. But it’s nice to have her around.

He doesn’t pry about Jesse. He doesn’t want to run the risk of Rachel asking him the same question. He’s pretty sure she’d be appalled if he confessed that he has feelings for Sebastian while he’s still dating Kurt as well. They had a Skype date tonight, and he still hasn’t decided if he’s going to tell Kurt about Sebastian. It’s his guilt over his indecision that keeps him silent.

“Afternoon, everyone,” Sebastian’s voice sounds as momentary relief.

Blaine turns his head, watching Sebastian lean down to kiss Emma’s cheek, and then make his way over to their table. He’s wearing a white dress shirt underneath a black waistcoat, the ensemble hugging his chest so tight it shows off his broad shoulders and slim waist.

A familiar constricting feeling settles on his chest.

Sebastian looks _amazing_.

It’s no help that he doesn’t need his imagination to know what’s hiding underneath those few layers of clothing. He’s seen Sebastian naked, _butt_ naked, and God help him he hasn’t been able to shake that memory since, Sebastian’s perfect tanned skin, the beauty spots blotted over his chest and back, _everywhere_ , his perfect abs and slim waist and his cock—

He shakes his head—these aren’t appropriate thoughts to be having during lunch, while Emma and Will and Rachel are only a few feet away. He can’t deny they’re thoughts that have kept him up at night though, when his hand slips underneath the covers and he strokes himself until he’s hard, jerking off to that image of Sebastian standing naked with steam rising off his skin, thinking about Sebastian and that smile, those lips and his hands and the heat of him, and his back arches of the bed, come spilling over his chest and staining the sheets.

“Blaine,” Sebastian’s voice shakes him back to the present.

His cheeks burn hot and he does his best to avoid Sebastian’s eyes. Luckily no one seems to have noticed his lost-in-thought gaze.

“Miss Berry.” Sebastian nods and settles down at the table.

“You two know each other?” he asks, staring between the two of them, more as a way to regain some composure than genuine curiosity. He guesses Sebastian and Rachel must have met, judging from all the time Rachel’s been spending at Hunter’s.

“We’ve been introduced,” Sebastian answers, and winks at Rachel.

Rachel draws in a deep breath and presses her lips together. “Excuse me,” she says, her voice a higher pitch than usual, and gets up, all but sprinting towards the house.

“What did I say?” Sebastian asks.

Blaine frowns. “She’s been acting weird all morning.”

“I hope the stress of rehearsal isn’t getting to our young ingénue.”

He chuckles. “Rachel doesn’t get stressed.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “You know that for a fact?”

“I’ve known her for eight years,” he answers. “She hasn’t choked once.”

Sebastian seems confused for a moment, but before Sebastian can ask how he and Rachel know each other Emma interrupts: “Oh dear,” she says.

He turns in his chair just in time to see Emma put down her phone. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“They’re short volunteers at the retirement home,” she answers, walking over to their table. “But Will got me theatre tickets for my birthday.”

“We can go,” he blurts out, ever the helping hand, and looks back at Sebastian. “Right?” he asks, the idea of having time alone with Sebastian far more appealing than babysitting old people.

He would blow off the entire day if it meant spending time with Sebastian, but he’s still determined to do what his father asked him to do, help out by being the best he can be for Emma and Will, and this includes sidelining his own desires now and then. Though if he really thinks about it, he might’ve been doing that for a very long time for a lot of people in his life.

Sebastian raises both eyebrows: _we?_ his eyes ask, but he seems more amused than annoyed. He watches Sebastian fake his best smile and he barely stifles a grin. “Of course,” Sebastian says. Maybe he’s on his best behavior too.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Emma walks over and hugs an arm around them both. “What would I do without you boys?”

 

.

 

**21**

**INT. RETIREMENT HOME – day**

 

 

He thinks Blaine’s doing this to torture him, because there’s no way he actually wants to be here. The retirement home’s located outside the city, the air fresh and there’s plenty of room for people to roam around without actually getting lost.

But this is not a happy place.

There are elderly people wandering the halls dazed and confused, there’s shouting and cursing and spitting and nurses manhandling people into chairs. It makes him hope that if he ever reaches this age he’s granted the dignity of a quick sudden death. He’s sort of grateful that his grandmother gets to live out her days in the private care of Emma and the two nurses hired to take care of her. He’s never been close to her, the stories he’s heard from his mother painted her as a real knuckle-dragger, but he wouldn’t wish a place like this on his worst enemy.

“It’s really nice when young people help out,” the nurse leading them down the hall says, one arm wrapped around each of them.

Blaine smiles and all he can think about is how Blaine’s chest covered with a single layer of purple fabric, the V-neck tee showing off his collarbone. That’s what he wants to occupy his time with, trace his fingers over Blaine’s skin, worry it with his teeth, kiss and lick and nip, his hands exploring everywhere. He wants to teach Blaine about his own pleasure, make sure he knows what he’s missing out on.

He bets Blaine would look beautiful, spread out naked beneath him, open and inviting and begging him to come closer, cock hard and heavy between his legs. He’d kiss those full lips until they were swollen, blemish his skin with hickeys then lap his tongue over them to make the pain go away, lick a hot wet line over his erection, tug and tease, drive into that tight ass—

“Most of our patients don’t have any family nearby,” the nurse adds, bringing him back to the cold reality of the retirement home. They continue down the hall and stop in front of a door. The nurse knocks, speaking before the door’s halfway open. “Mister Gottlieb,” she says, talking as one would to a child, “we have a visitor for you.”

The room revealed is bigger than he’d expected, a small bathroom, bed, several cupboards, a big lounge chair in front of the window, the tops of the cabinets decorated with pictures and trinkets that had once belonged to a real home. The sight of the room depresses him even more, the way people here hold onto their past in the hopes of recapturing something they lost, or maybe forgot.  

“Hi, Mister Gottlieb,” Blaine says.

“Frank,” the old man shoots back.

Blaine walks over to the elderly man and Sebastian means to follow, but the nurse tightens her hold on his shoulder. “Actually, Sebastian,” she says, “you’re going to be spending the hour with Mrs Sugarman.”

He looks at Blaine, and Blaine _waves at him_ of all things, a far too amused smile pulling at his lips. He can’t believe the lengths he’s going to for this silly boy, this crazy inexperienced but very attractive senator’s son who has somehow gotten him to rearrange his priorities and take on things he never would have considered before. Why on _earth_ is he doing this?

He tells himself it’s only an hour, that they’ll have some time alone afterwards, even though that thought does little to cheer him up once he sees that chinos-clad ass disappear out of sight.

 

.

 

An hour later he’s almost done solving the New York Times crossword puzzle on one of the paper’s back pages. He’s done little else but sit around since the nurse showed him Mrs Sugarman’s – _Edna’_ s – room. He’d settled in the lounge chair in front of the window, legs stretched out in front of him. Edna had been sitting on her bed and remained there the entire time; he’d made no move to dissuade her from this.

“Did I ever tell you about the time when my last husband sent me—” the old woman starts again.

“Yes, you did,” he interrupts. She’s told him the same story seven times in different ways but the details are much the same: years ago (he assumes it was before she ended up in the retirement home) her husband sent her a letter to come and meet him in Times Square and requested she put on her Sunday best—he took her out to the ballet, Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_ (because what else could it have been) and it was the most beautiful night of her life. That much he’d believed after hearing the story the first few times.

“I did?” Mrs Sugarman asks.

“Right after we played backgammon,” he says, a lie this time. She’s been talking for an hour, and he’s been pretending to listen. At least he didn’t get the feeling he was boring her.

“We played backgammon?”

“Uh huh.” He nods, but doesn’t look up. “You beat me three times.”

“I did?” Mrs Sugarman asks, the surprise in her voice evident.

“Yep.” He fills in the last word of the crossword puzzle: _Belize_. “Then I fucked your daughter.”

“Excuse me?”

Sebastian sighs and turns around, speaking louder this time. “I said: _would you like some wate_ r?”

“Oh... no, thank you.” Mrs Sugarman giggles nervously.

There’s a knock at the door and he checks his watch; one hour passed, that wasn’t all too bad. Blaine enters with the nurse. “How are we doing in here?” she asks.

“I won three games of backgammon!” Mrs Sugarman exclaims, much to his surprise, but it gives him time to hide the newspaper, and get up from his chair without his disinterest showing too much.

He crosses the room towards Blaine and when Blaine beams at him, that full toothed smile that puffs up his cheeks and makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, he decides the past hour was worth it just for that.

 

.

 

**22**

**INT. JAGUAR – day**

 

Blaine sits comfortably next to him in the Jaguar no twenty minutes later. The wind disturbs his curls as they race down an abandoned back road he happened to know about, deciding to take the scenic route back to the estate. He looks at Blaine, his eyes catching on his appearance again: Blaine has his eyes closed, head tilted back, soaking up the sun, and Sebastian only just stops himself from thinking he looks beautiful like this, clothed and everything. He’s long since decided that Blaine’s hot in a very ‘I don’t know this about myself’ kind of way and something like that drives himcrazy. A guy as fine as Blaine should be told every day that he’s good-looking.

He already knows he’s in far too deep, he’s attracted to Blaine, and whereas attraction has come into play in most of his conquests, most of that was a feeling that happened in the moment, at the touch of skin or a well-placed kiss, at the sight of a leaking cock or perfectly formed abs. It’s never come before even having touched someone. Yet here he is, not too proud to admit that he’s lusting after Blaine now. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he’d located the challenge in the virgin-part of Blaine’s manifesto, the ‘I want to wait’ and ‘making a mature decision’— he never thought Blaine would actually be hard to get.

Then again, it’s been a lovely exercise in patience and self-control, in as far as he possesses either of those qualities.

“It’s weird,” he says, as a means to get a conversation going. “I actually feel good about myself. Mrs Sugarman’s cool,” he adds, and he’ll be the first to admit it’s about the lamest line he’s ever used. But this had been Blaine’s idea, and maybe if he notices that he’s actually trying he’ll get a little more leeway.

Blaine turns his head slowly, scoping his demeanor. “Come on,” he says. “ _Mr Sugarman’s cool_?”

“She is!” Sebastian exclaims, and he definitely sounds a little too enthusiastic now.

Blaine scoffs, but his mouth slides into that delicious grin. “You must think I’m a real idiot,” he says.

“Quite the opposite actually.”

He swears he can feel Blaine’s eyes zooming in on his face.

“You’re telling me you had a good time with that old lady?” Blaine asks, sounding not the least bit impressed with his theatrics.

“I did,” he lies again, but at this point he’s not all too sure why. It’s clear that Blaine knows him a little better than he gives him credit for. “We played three games of backgammon,” he adds for kicks.

Blaine doesn’t say anything for long moments, there’s the wind through his hair and a comfortable silence between them. For a second he thinks that maybe Blaine has accepted that he won’t budge or that arguing with him is futile, and he’s disappointed; it’s so much more fun if Blaine talks back.

But then he dares a peek to his right and he finds Blaine staring at him, quietly judging him.

He cracks.

“Okay, I was bored out of my mind!” he admits. “I hate doing charity.”

Blaine smiles wide and shakes his head. “That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

He sighs. There are times when he doesn’t know what to make of Blaine. One moment he holds back and the next he’s flirting, sometimes he’s shy but right now he’s completely confident—Blaine Anderson is a crossword puzzle he’s almost desperate to solve. He’s yet to decide whether that’s a good thing.

“I can’t win with you,” he says, and he’s never meant that more. He’s been trying so hard and Blaine refuses to give in. But he figures that’s karma for trying with less than honorable intentions. Today he really did try, tried to see it from Blaine’s perspective, but he’s starting to suspect Blaine’s perspective was born from some skewed sense of duty.

How he loathes selflessness.

“It’s not about winning, Sebastian,” Blaine says. “You don’t have anything to prove to me.”

He scoffs and stares out at the road.

“You know what your problem is?” Blaine adds. “You take yourself way too seriously.”

His head snaps to the right again, shocked by Blaine’s words, but from the look in his eyes he can tell that Blaine isn’t kidding. “— _said no one ever about Sebastian Smythe_ ,” he says. Where is this coming from?

“It’s true though,” Blaine insists. “You should try to lighten up.”

He smiles, mostly to himself and shakes his head. No, there’s absolutely no winning from Blaine Anderson, so why’s he having so much fun?

“You are the first person to ever accuse me of being too serious,” he says. “Most people claim the opposite.”

All he’s ever heard were accusations, how he couldn’t live his life like this, this irresponsibly, this laid-back or unafraid of the consequences of his actions. _Why can’t you be more like Hunter?_ his mother has started asking in recent years, and every time she does he can’t help but wonder what she would think of Hunter if she knew about his coke habit. He’s done a lot of things he shouldn’t be proud of, things that were fucked up and could get him into so much trouble if people would find out, but at least he doesn’t do drugs. It’s only a small comfort, his mother probably thinks he does take drugs, but it gets him through his one-sided conversations with her.

“Of course by most people I mean my parents,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I feel like you’re going to bring up the word ‘responsible’ again,” Blaine teases.

He nods, keeps his eyes on the road. “—and how it relates to me in no way whatsoever.”

“Well, being serious has little to do with being responsible.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’m fairly certain that was an insult.”

“It was an observation,” Blaine notes, looking and sounding entirely too full of himself. By now his body’s made a half-turn towards him, seatbelt loose around his waist. He makes no comment on safety this time.

“Can we drop this?” he asks, feels like the conversation has revolved around him for long enough. It would be so much more fun to talk about Blaine. “I am plenty— _lit up_.”

Blaine shrugs. “Fine.”

It’s silent for a moment, and they both look out at the road for a while, until Blaine’s movements catch his attention from the corner of his eye. Blaine raises an eyebrow and looks at him curiously. He stares at Blaine, not speaking, and then something happens he can’t really explain: Blaine raises one eyebrow theatrically high, while lowering the other, giving his face a comedic glower, and sets his jaw askew.

Blaine looks like some sort of deranged pirate.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asks, his voice a higher pitch than usual.

Blaine doesn’t say a word, but somehow manages to wiggle his eyebrows and leans in closer.

“Stop it, it’s distracting,” he says, having trouble keeping his eyes on the road while trying to figure out what the hell is going on. If Blaine thinks this will get him to be _less serious_ he’s gravely mistaken. But Blaine holds his ground, and the face, and suggestively winks at him.

A smile breaks out across his face. “Cut it out!” he exclaims, attempts to get his face under control.

Blaine sits back, his face relaxing. “Are you smiling?” Blaine asks, a sound in his voice he hasn’t heard before. It’s a little teasing underlain with a challenge, but even more so Blaine sounds relaxed and comfortable, like he’s finally letting his guard down.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“ _No_?” Blaine acts shocked and makes the face again, leans closer to him, raising his hands to his face so he can crook his index fingers into horns by his temples.

A laugh escapes him involuntarily, bellows out from somewhere deep in his chest and breaks free. It’s not an altogether unpleasant feeling.

“Will–you– _stop_?” his voice shakes with laughter.

“What’s that?” Blaine points at his face. “Is that—Is that a genuine smile?”

“I’ll have you know that I smile plenty.”

“To get you somewhere, sure.”

He glances at Blaine briefly and raises an eyebrow. “Another observation?” he asks, and can’t help but wonder how often his smile has affected Blaine.

Blaine smiles, settling back in his seat. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says. “I’m just glad that I’m one of the few who get to see this side of you.”

He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. “I changed my mind: you are an idiot.”

Blaine shrugs. “Then I’m an idiot.”

He doesn’t stop himself from smiling now, feels like if he’s ever going to let his own guard down now is as good a time as any—and it’s not like he has anything to lose. There’s never been a guy in his life like Blaine, who challenged him to do better, to _be_ better. Why not try this walk of life for a while? Hunter challenged him, but that was different, he always felt like they were competitors.

What’s wrong with laying it all out if it feels good?

And it pays off. A few seconds later he feels Blaine’s fingers gently tiptoeing over his hand, where it lay loosely wrapped around the base of the stick-shift. The slide of Blaine’s fingers turns into a caress and he turns up his palm, running on autopilot now—Blaine lacing their fingers together.

He has no idea what it means, if in Blaine’s mind they’ve crossed the line between friends, because there’s still Kurt, and even if Blaine could be tempted, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would cheat on his boyfriend. But he decides to go with it, holds Blaine’s hand while they slowly make their way home, and just like Blaine smiling at him earlier, this makes the entire day worth his while.

Blaine smiles at him, his hazel eyes shining. “There might be hope for you yet,” he says.

He doesn’t know where the thought comes from, or when he started believing he needed to be saved, but he thinks Blaine might be right.

 

.

 

**23**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – LIVING ROOM – day**

 

He’s never particularly liked Emma or Will Schuester; some time after meeting him Will Schuester had decided he didn’t like him and that’s a sentiment that’s vehemently stuck between the two men for the past three years. The wife, Sebastian’s aunt, had always seemed a tad – what was the clinical term again – _crazy_. But they were Sebastian’s family and he tolerated their existence, in so far that their acquaintance got him somewhere. Right now his past semi-regular visits get him into the estate, which was reward enough.

Sebastian had called him a few hours ago, told him that everything had gone great between him and Rachel last night, but that she’d been acting weird, and a chat with her mentor wouldn’t go amiss. He thinks it was more a challenge than an actual suggestion; it was Sebastian’s way of boasting about his accomplishment without it coming from his own mouth. And he has wondered what transpired between the two of them.

He finds Rachel alone in one of the house’s many living rooms, standing in front of the window, staring out without being focused on anything.

“Rachel,” he calls out, closing the doors to the living room behind him.

Rachel startles. “What are you doing here?” she asks, locking her hands together.

“I came to check up on you,” he answers, hands in his pockets. “Sebastian said you were acting weird.”

Rachel turns around abruptly, facing away from him. He holds back a smile, puts his fingers to his lips—he wants to know what happened so desperately, learn what wicked things Sebastian did to this precious girl. He wants to know if she enjoyed it.

“Did something happen with Sebastian last night?” he asks.

“No!” Rachel exclaims, whirling around, but the look in her eyes betrays her. Something did happen; Sebastian promised he’d seduce Rachel. “I mean—”

He stalks a step closer. “Rachel, you know you can tell me anything.”

Rachel’s shoulders slump and he knows he has her; she’s far too trusting and far too easy for a girl with a mother as cautious as Shelby. “Sebastian, he—” she starts, and lowers her voice to a whisper. “He kissed me.”

“I kissed you,” he notes.

“No, I mean...” She folds her hands together and casts down her eyes.  “... down there.”

“He ate you out?” he asks, as serious as he can manage, but he’s having trouble suppressing a smile. His brother works fast.

Rachel shrugs. “If that’s what you call it.”

He takes another step towards her. “And did you like it?”

The blush in Rachel’s cheeks gives away her answer before she can form the words. “I didn’t know boys could make me feel like that,” she says, her voice small, but it’s clear Sebastian left an impression.

He can only imagine what Sebastian’s mouth did to her. He can’t deny he hasn’t thought about it too, Sebastian’s lips around his cock, fucking shallowly into his throat, hands tangling in Sebastian’s hair as he sucks his length. If Sebastian wins their bet he’ll be at his brother’s mercy, but he knows Sebastian well enough to know he’ll draw it out, that he’ll take his sweet time winding him up, making sure he gets everything he’s ever wanted. And a blowjob might not be out of the question.

If Sebastian gets lucky with Blaine it won’t be long before he can stop using his imagination.

But he hasn’t set his hopes very high; he could see Sebastian fucking this up yet. And the idea of owning Sebastian’s car wasn’t entirely unappealing either. 

“Imagine what else he could make you feel,” he says, staring at Rachel intently.

“I don’t love him.” Rachel shakes her head. “I love Jesse.”

Time for another tactic. He’s built her up, gained her trust, and he thinks he can get away with this now. “Do you really think Jesse would enjoy an inexperienced little girl who has no idea what she likes?” he asks.

Rachel looks up at him, eyes darkening, but her thoughts are going a hundred miles an hour. Something he said must have hit a nerve, her lips set in a tight straight line.

“Trust me,” he says. “Guys love a girl with experience.”

He drapes an arm around her shoulder. “Think of Sebastian as a tutor,” he adds. “Let him instruct you.”

“Wouldn’t that make me a slut?” Rachel asks, voice shaking with uncertainty.

“Rachel.” He looks at her sympathetically. “How do you think anyone ever learns?” he asks.

This isn’t a lie; his first sexual experience was with a boy who was a few years older than him, already knew what he was doing when he first pushed his fingers up his ass, came prepared with lube and condoms and an exquisite amount of patience. Military school had been educational in more ways than one.

He remembers it well, Dave sneaking into his shower stall, a quick hand job and his moans drowned out against a hot mouth. He’d thought about boys before, when he was alone and he jerked off to the thought of their naked bodies, dripping with sweat and hard leaking cocks he’d only ever seen in porn magazines. But nothing had prepared him for the real thing. He’d come hot and sloppy all over Dave’s hand, but Dave had only smiled and kissed him again, whispering “Practise makes perfect” in his ear before retreating back to his own stall.

Soon their get-togethers turned into nightly escapades where they snuck out of their bunks and found some private spot – usually the laundry room on the other side of the complex – and Dave showed him, taught him how much his body could take, how much his body could want, built him up and broke him down, showed him all the ways to give pleasure.

He thinks Dave took his heart too.

“Everybody does it,” he says, reluctant to dwell on the past, and puts his index finger to his lips. “It’s just that nobody talks about it.”


	7. The Long Goodbye

**24**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – LIVING ROOM – day**

 

He’s been searching the entire house for Sebastian for a good twenty minutes. Granted, it’s a huge mansion and Sebastian knows it far better than him, but impatience crawls underneath his skin. It’s only been a week since he decided to use Rachel for his own gain, but he can feel his victory creeping closer, it made his blood run hotter, the thought that very soon Brody Weston could find out what his princess had been up to; he’d mope and whine and sulk, like that time when Carmen chose him over Brody for the Winter showcase.

And if there’s one thing Cassandra July hates more than young ingénue wannabes, it’s whiners. It might be a small or even petty victory, Cassandra deserves much worse than having her toys taken from her, but he likes it when things go his way. He hasn’t felt this accomplished in a very long time.

He finds Sebastian in the south lounge, standing in front of the window, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes.

“Who are we spying on?” Hunter asks.

He snatches the binoculars from Sebastian’s hands and brings them to his eyes, searching the grounds for something of interest. His eyes quickly fall on a boy sitting underneath an oak tree, picnic blanket spread underneath him, a book in his lap.

This must be the infamous Blaine Anderson. “That him?” he still asks, pretends he’s actually interested. He has little care for the senator’s son beyond the bet he made with Sebastian; he thinks it can still go either way, but whether Sebastian succeeds in plucking Blaine’s cherry or not, at least he’ll get something out of it.

Blaine Anderson’s photo spread in Qr Magazine had not done him justice; the pictures made him look fine, but this boy could easily be mistaken for a Disney prince, the black hair curling at his forehead, hazel eyes that he can’t make out right now but the pictures had shown clearly, and a physique many guys would be envious of.

“I can see why you want to fuck him,” he notes, a casual observation as much as a challenge; Sebastian doesn’t like it when he sets his sights on something he likes. But when Sebastian harshly reclaims the binoculars from his hands he’s pretty sure his comment hadn’t even brushed the surface of what he could have said.

He turns, his eyes following Sebastian across the room. There’s something different about his brother, he seems distracted almost, his mind somewhere else.

“What’s up your ass?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Sebastian answers, but doesn’t meet his eye.

Hunter smirks. “Don’t tell me he’s getting to you.”

Sebastian looks up at him slowly, takes a moment to consider his question, hands in his pockets. “But he is,” Sebastian answers, his voice laced with a calm he’s never credited his brother with before. “He made me laugh.”

There’s a part of him that thinks he must be dreaming: who is this boy standing in front of him and where has Sebastian gone? Since when does he let boys like Blaine Anderson get to him? Sebastian Smythe doesn’t do feelings, and neither does he, but whereas he’d fallen in love long ago only to be left heartbroken, Sebastian’s never shown any sort of sentiment.

Then again, Sebastian’s always been known to seize the moment, go where the current took him. Maybe he’s letting Blaine get to him. He wonders how far that stretches, how far Sebastian will allow himself to go before he realizes he’s in too deep. Sebastian might be good at faking them, but it’s a whole different thing to experience these kinds of emotions.

“I can’t stand this whole ‘I want to wait’ bullshit,” Sebastian adds. “But it’s real for him.”

He saunters a few steps closer. “Is that why you’re losing our bet?”

Sebastian’s eyes darken. “I’m not losing our bet,” he says. “It’s just taking me a little longer than I expected.”

Hunter closes the distance between them, reaching for one of Sebastian’s belt loops, and pulls him closer. Sebastian sighs, but comes to him willingly. Sometimes Sebastian can act like such a child, he thinks, where would Sebastian be if it weren’t for him?

He goes for Sebastian’s front pocket, digs his fingers in, making sure to add a little more pressure than is warranted. He massages at Sebastian’s groin, right above his cock. Sebastian breathes in sharp and deep, letting the touch overtake him, but he doesn’t move. He hates how he has to look up, even if it’s to account for a mere two inches, but he feels as if it gives Sebastian a power he wouldn’t grant anyone.

His eyes linger on Sebastian’s lips.

It’s a strange sensation to want it all; there’s just as big a part of him that wants Sebastian to win this bet than as there is a part of him that wants him to lose. He wants to know what it’s like to have Sebastian, to fuck him or be fucked all the same, to go beyond the kissing and the groping and using sex as an incentive to get him to do something for him. But he’s well aware that if Sebastian wins he’d be giving up a control he wants a lot more than sex.

His fingers hook in the ring holding together Sebastian’s car keys, and he pulls them out. He dangles them in Sebastian’s face. “Do you mind if I take my new car for a ride?”

Sebastian grabs him by the wrist. “Brother, the only thing you’ll be riding is me,” he says, so sure of himself it makes something in Hunter’s chest twitch. He can’t tell what Sebastian’s thinking anymore, whether he’s still determined to win this bet or if Blaine’s getting to his sweet spot. Maybe it’s both.

And he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Sebastian adds. “I have some work to do.” Sebastian grabs his keys, puts them back in his pocket, and makes his way out of the room.

He swallows hard, his mood taking a turn for the worse. There was a time not too long ago where this was fun, where it was only ever about challenging each other and other people were toys for them to toss around. But somewhere in the past week Blaine stopped being a toy to Sebastian, he started becoming a real person with opinions and feelings and the thought of that makes his stomach turn. Why is Blaine different? What had Blaine done to his brother?

There’s an eerie feeling that sinks into his skin right alongside his pride and impatience, something he’s all too familiar with but has never felt in relation to Sebastian.

He’s jealous.

And for the first time in over a week he thinks it was a really bad idea.

He shouldn’t have made this bet.

 

.

 

**25**

**EXT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – SOUTH GARDEN – day**

 

What is Hunter’s problem?

They never set a time limit to this bet and as far as he’s concerned he has the entire summer to get into Blaine’s pants. He’s played the long game before, managed some semblance of control and patience because he had a clear goal in mind. In the case of Marley Rose it was to take Terri down a notch, but this dance with Blaine seems starkly different; he doesn’t want to play the long game, he doesn’t want to wait, there’s a huge chunk of him that wants Blaine right here and now and that’s the problem. Getting into Blaine’s pants was the goal, a desire, not a roundabout way to get something else.

Maybe this challenge he’d set himself was too direct.

Blaine’s still engrossed in his book when he joins him outside. He hasn’t placed it yet, the handholding, he doesn’t know where they are or what it means. He realizes that despite being able to read Blaine quite well, there’s no sense to anything they’ve been through this past week, the _let’s be friends_ but the blatant flirting. Blaine must have realized by now that they’re something more.

Blaine looks up at him, but doesn’t say a word.

He goes to his knees in front of Blaine. “Bonjour Monsieur,” he says.

Blaine pulls his book from his lap, reeling at the sudden proximity for a moment or two, but his reply comes fast. “Bonjour Monsieur Smythe.”

He smiles and leans in, pressing one kiss to Blaine’s left cheek, another kiss to the right one – as is French tradition – and then he pulls back far enough to bring Blaine’s face into focus. He doesn’t know what pushes him to do it, why he’s suddenly craving it more than anything else, but there’s something telling him to surrender, to take a chance, to stop taking everything so serious for a change.

It’s true what he told Hunter, Blaine’s getting to him, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt like this about anyone. Is this what being in love feels like, this need to be around someone, to hear their voice or see that smile without immediately wanting something physical?

But then his eyes catch on Blaine’s lips and before he knows it he’s leaning in again, and his lips brush Blaine’s and he would’ve stopped, he really would have, if it weren’t for Blaine breathing in deeply and parting his lips for him, silently giving him permission. It’s Blaine who goes in for more, whose tongue darts out first and licks into his mouth, sucking at his lips, and it feels amazing.

He’s kissed so many people, touched so many lips, but none like Blaine’s, never like this.

He doesn’t touch Blaine, no more than he already is, he only moves his lips against Blaine’s, no rush or urgency, let’s Blaine dictate the push and pull of the kiss. There’s a heat that spreads through him, a want for something more, something deeper, something closer, something he’s not sure he knows how to translate. He thought he knew this, figured out all the ways to kiss someone long ago, but this is different. Somehow this feels more personal, the drag of Blaine’s lips against his, tongue and mouth and shallow breathing.

He gets lost in it; he _wants_ to get lost in it, to kiss Blaine for a while without adding anything else.

But a hand on his chest pushes him back.

He releases Blaine’s lips and pulls back, gauging Blaine’s reaction.

Blaine casts down his eyes.

He sits back on his heels. “I’m sorry,” he says, dazed, heart racing a million miles an hour, a pull in his chest urging him closer again, but a voice inside sounds stronger. No means no, and Blaine had pushed him back.

“I’m sorry too.”

But Blaine’s no sooner spoken the words when something in him revolts; Blaine’s not looking at him as if he’s ashamed, as if he hadn’t wanted it as much as he did, as if he hadn’t kissed him back. He doesn’t understand this.

“Actually, I’m not sorry.” He jumps to his feet, staggers a few steps back. “I don’t take it back.”

Blaine blinks up at him, his eyes big and pleading. “I thought we were going to be friends,” he says, and Sebastian knows he apologizes for more than the kiss. He apologizes for flirting but mostly for letting him, for the smiles and the handholding and letting his guard down.

He apologizes for giving him permission.

“I can’t do that.” He shakes his head. “I’m not like you, I can’t bottle up my feelings.” He’s not sure if he’s telling the truth or spewing something he thinks he should say. How does anyone do this? How does anyone make sense of this?

“Can you honestly tell me you feel nothing for me?” he asks.

Blaine doesn’t release his eyes. “I do—have feelings for you,” he confesses, however hesitantly but it’s there, it’s out there unlike his reluctance to talk about the attraction between them.

Why is it so important for him to hear it all of a sudden?

“Then what’s wrong? Why wouldn’t I get to kiss you?” he asks, unversed in the dynamics of this—he doesn’t know how to do this, how to tell someone that he likes spending time with them without ulterior motives. He wants Blaine, dear God does he want Blaine, but he’ll never force him. “It’s not like you’re in the closet.”

Blaine’s face falls. “That’s not fair.”

“Why can’t we be together?” he asks, but he doesn’t know what he means by ‘together’ anymore.

Blaine scrambles up from the ground, reconquering ground he hasn’t allowed Blaine up until now. “You really want to know?” Blaine asks.

“Yes!” he exclaims, because it makes sense, doesn’t it? Blaine kissed him back, admitted to having feelings for him, why wouldn’t it make sense for them to be together? What could be wrong with taking a chance on each other?

“Because I don’t trust myself with you,” Blaine answers.

It’s like Blaine slaps him across the face, leaving a burning sting behind that lingers for hours upon hours and days upon days; Blaine pokes at the one thing he’d been hoping for, that Blaine would surrender to him without thinking, without considering what he’d be giving up—Blaine had him sussed out long ago. With or without Shelby whispering in his ear Blaine read him like few others.

“I just broke up with Kurt because it wasn’t fair to string him along,” Blaine rants, eyes filling with tears, but he suspects it has more to do with what he did than breaking up with Kurt.

“But I took a vow, Sebastian,” Blaine adds.

Right, Sebastian thinks, his precious vow, to wait for love. His mother’s vow.

“And every moment I’m with you I’m tempted to break it.”

He can’t look away, his eyes glued to Blaine’s face, his hazel eyes ablaze, every word an accusation, a painful punch to the gut and for a split second Blaine becomes everyone who’s ever told him to get his act together. But Blaine takes the blame himself rather than accuse him of forcing feelings on him, becomes someone else so the blame doesn’t just rest on his shoulders. He thinks Blaine has been doing that for far too long.

Because when do Blaine’s desires come into play?

But he doesn’t say it, he can’t say it, Blaine admits to everything he’d been hoping for but it only makes him feel lousy. He forced himself into Blaine’s life, flirted and teased and opened Blaine up to this guilt.

“Don’t destroy that for me,” Blaine says softly, voice thick with sorrow. “Please.”

Blaine’s eyes shine with tears and any sort of answer doesn’t make it past his lips, he can’t stand the thought of making Blaine cry, but he doesn’t know how to make it right without reaching out to him.

He wants things from Blaine that he refuses to give him.

Blaine needs things from him he hasn’t experienced before.

So what can he possibly say?

Blaine turns around and rushes off, and he’s left feeling less than the man that he is when Blaine’s around. He’s never questioned himself like this before, his motives, his actions, because he knew taking a step back would make him realize only one thing: he needs to get his act together.

 

.

 

**26**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – SEBASTIAN’S BEDROOM – day**

 

She’s not entirely sure what she’s doing. Her conversation with Hunter earlier had given her so much to think about that she forgot today was supposed to be about Blaine—she’d missed talking to him and having him around, but she understood why he needed the time away. He’d been remarkably evasive about how he was spending his time here, but when Sebastian had joined them at lunch, well, it wasn’t hard to see how affected her brother had been by Sebastian: the blush in his cheeks, his wide-in-wonder eyes.

But affected or not, Blaine had a boyfriend and she knew him well enough to know he’d never do anything to jeopardize that. Kurt was nice enough, had a wonderful smile and a cheerful personality. Her mother said it wouldn’t last, that young love never lasts, but she thinks Blaine and Kurt work mostly because Kurt had patience and he respected Blaine’s beliefs. Blaine never talked about his relationship much, but after eight years of being his sister she knew things about him not many other people did.

Maybe Blaine wasn’t in love with Kurt, but he’s loyal to the people he cares about.

But what is she doing?

She’d spent the entire afternoon trying to figure out what to do, whether to trust Hunter and trust Sebastian with her body. She wanted to learn, she wanted to know about sex and learn what she liked, she wanted to know how to make a boy feel good, to do to his body what Sebastian had done to hers. She wanted to feel that kind of power.

Jesse was four years her senior, he probably knew what he wanted from a girl, and she didn’t want to disappoint him either. How could she give him pleasure if she didn’t know the slightest thing about sex?

So she’d made her way to Sebastian’s room, long after she knew Hunter had left, long after Sebastian returned from the retirement home with Blaine. She sat on his bed and ran a hand over the sheets, remembering vividly how he’d made her feel, how her body had throbbed and stuttered and fallen apart. She wanted to do that to him too.

It’s right before dinner when Sebastian makes it into his room, closing the door behind him and muttering “Shit” under his breath. She wonders what happened to put him in such a bad mood.

She gets up from the bed, her arms behind her back, feeling self-conscious.

“Rachel?” Sebastian asks once he takes notice of her. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, feels her cheeks heat up; she can’t believe she’s going to say this. “I thought you might want to pick up where we left off.”

There’s a brief hint of panic that flashes in Sebastian’s eyes, and she thinks she must’ve done something wrong. Panic starts in her as well, maybe this is too forward, maybe Sebastian doesn’t like this, maybe he’d prefer a girl with more experience too. After all, if everything her mother told her about him is true, he already knows the ins and outs of this.

But Sebastian composes himself.

“Miss Berry,” he says. “Are you sure you want to let me corrupt you like this?”

Her heart beats like crazy. “Yes,” she whispers.

Sebastian walks over to her and captures her lips with his own, kissing her with a verve that wasn’t there last time. She clutches at his waist to keep her balance, Sebastian’s height intimidating, his hands are in her hair and his mouth claims hers and she goes dizzy with it: Sebastian’s lips and trying to breathe and this closeness she’s only allowed him up until now.

Sebastian pulls back. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want to know how to make you feel good,” she says, reaches down to palm over Sebastian’s crotch.

He runs his fingers down her neck. “You made me feel pretty good last time,” he says softly.

She likes Sebastian, she realizes, _a lot_.

No one’s ever touched her with such care, made her feel special like this, not on this level, like her body’s precious and it needs to be cherished. Sebastian doesn’t see her like Cassandra does or the boys in high school; all they saw was an awkward little girl, ashamed of her body, and she can’t really blame them. Despite her mother’s eye for fashion she’s always preferred to cover her body with knit woolen sweaters, preferred wearing flats over heels—she can’t figure out what Hunter or Sebastian see that others haven’t.

“But—” she protests, because she wants it all now, see Sebastian naked, touch him, go all the way with him.

“No but,” Sebastian interrupts, placing his index finger over her lips again. She feels a smile pull at her lips. “Giving someone pleasure should always feel good,” Sebastian says. “Otherwise you’re not doing it right. It only works if we’re both getting something out of it.”

He removes his finger, smiles down at her. “Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” she breathes.

 

.

 

Rachel Berry is one of a kind. She’s putty in his hands, ready to be molded, ready to learn, and he’s not ashamed to admit that she’s the perfect distraction after a very confusing day. He doesn’t want to think about Blaine anymore, not right now, it’s him and Rachel and the bed, clothes coming off slowly, whispered instructions and the sound of breathing.

Last time her responses were flawless, her breathy sighs and moans, her hand tangling in his hair, the way she spread her legs for him. Rachel knew what she wanted, and that made this so much more fun.

He takes his time with her, has her begging by the time he peels off her panties, drags his nose and lips over her abdomen, licks between her breasts, rubs and nips at her nipples, hands roaming wherever he can possibly go. She’s sensitive _everywhere_ , her body responding to every touch, clenching and shaking, and he can forget about everything.

He focuses on her body and his own, it’s just the two of them and each other’s pleasure. He tells her how to hold his cock, not too tight, guides her hand up and down, shows her how to drag her thumb over the head. She jerks him off slowly while she straddles his lap, her eyes wide and mesmerized, lips parted, easing off again once he tells her to. He sits up and kisses her lazily, digs his fingers in around her hips into the small of her back.

And then he tells her to use her mouth, whispers the words into her ear and he feels a shiver run through her body, fear and excitement dueling for a say. But Rachel had decided what she wanted before even coming here and before he knows it she’s settled between his legs, licking a line up his cock and down again, mouthing his hard-on, her head bobbing up and down, teeth pulled over her lips, sucking him off after little to no direction. He closes his eyes and savors the sensation, deprived of sex for over a week now. It takes him all his strength to keep his hips from bucking up, but he doesn’t stop himself from putting a hand to the back of her head, leading her however he can.

He’s craving release, but he stops her before she finishes him, not sure if after all these new things she’d be ready to swallow down his come. And besides, there’s so much more for them to do. She releases his cock with a wet pop, her lips swollen red and smeared with a mixture of spit and precome.

She kisses him again, both hands on his face and there’s a desperation echoing through her entire body—she wants him, all of him, all that he can give her and all that he can take. This is the ultimate experience, sharing something so intimate with another person, this physicality; he can’t imagine how feelings could possibly make this better.

He switches their positions on the bed again, settling on top of her, a light sheen of sweat covering their bodies. He reaches down between her legs, tells her to relax, that he’ll only penetrate when he feels she’s ready. He works two fingers inside first, she’s so wet already but too tight; he kisses her and whispers nonsense, scissors his fingers. Her body’s taut with tension, practically begging for him to fuck her, but he adds a third finger first, stretching her, making sure she’s ready for his cock. There are rules to this, things to do and things to avoid, and he’ll never cross those lines.

She helps him roll on a condom before he runs his thumb up her pussy and starts massaging her clit, working in slow circles. Rachel cries out, her orgasm rippling through her in waves because this time he doesn’t stop, he curls his fingers inside her one last time, and then replaces them with the head of his cock. A moan breaks free from his lips at the feel of the tight wet heat, easing inside her; Rachel grabs his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin.

She tenses beneath him and he stills, burying his face in the crook of her neck until he can feel her relax. He rolls his hips, making her moan and he takes it as his cue to start moving. It won’t take him long, he’s managed to drag it out for almost an hour now because he needed it, to forget, to get a little lost, but his own body is begging for release. He sets a steady pace, not too fast, revelling in the heat between them, uncomplicated, natural.

He knows this. He understands this. He could do this with his eyes closed.

He cries out his release a few moments later, spilling inside Rachel, his orgasm hitting him hard and long and he closes his eyes. He wants to hold this moment, bottle it up and keep it captive, so uncomplicated and freeing.

He pulls out and crashes face-down next to her, but his high doesn’t last long. His head was clear for an hour, he didn’t need to think about anything else but now it all comes crashing back: Blaine and that kiss and holding his hand, Hunter and Rachel and the bet. What is he doing with his life? How did he become this pathetic heap of a guy who now used sex as a distraction? Sure, he tells himself he’s doing this for Hunter, but Hunter’s vendetta against Brody was petty and childish.

Is he acting petty and childish too? Has he somehow lost track of who he is and why he’s doing this? Was Marley Rose proof enough that he needed to stop living his life like this, plotting, scheming, exacting revenge over something as trivial as money? 

And what was Blaine exactly?

He’s not this person, he doesn’t question himself, he doesn’t lose confidence at halftime and he never passes up a score. He could have Blaine, with the right words and tone of voice, he knows exactly what to say to him to make him buckle.

The problem is he’s lost sight of whether or not he’d actually mean it.

He turns his head and looks at Rachel. She’s staring up at the ceiling, sheets pulled over her naked body.

“Are you okay?”

Rachel nods, shrugs, turns her head to look at him.  “I just—I thought it would hurt.”

“You’ll be a little sore in the morning,” he says while he turns over, pulling the sheet up to his waist. “But it’s not supposed to hurt.”

Rachel settles on her side, head propped up on her elbow. “What’s bothering you?”

“What makes you think something’s bothering me?” he asks, but the real question is exactly when did everyone start reading him so well.

She casts down her eyes. “Is it me?”

He takes a deep breath; she took one hell of a time to get insecure. “No,” he says. “You were fine.”

“Is it someone else?” Rachel asks, and somewhere deep down he thinks she intentionally avoids asking if it’s Blaine. He has wondered how Blaine knows Rachel, how they became friends over eight years ago. He can’t really imagine them approaching each other without a good reason. Then again, he’s been underestimating both of them.

“Are you in love with someone?” Rachel adds.

“We’re not having this conversation,” he says, tosses the sheets back and gets out of bed. He doesn’t want to think about this, the past hour has been about forgetting and he’d be happy to forget anything at all happened with Blaine today. Because why would he evaluate his feelings when Blaine refuses to face his own?

“Where are you going?” Rachel asks.

He pads into the bathroom. “Showering while you get dressed and head back home.”

“Need any company?” Rachel calls from the bedroom.

He chuckles and shakes his head, but has no intention of indulging her further. “No.”

“Want a blowjob?”

“Goodnight, Rachel,” he calls back, and right before he closes the bathroom door he swears he hears Rachel whisper “Prude”.

He checks himself in the mirror, a little worse for wear but that’s to be expected after the day he had. His body feels relaxed, his hunger sated, but there’s something about his skin that doesn’t feel quite right. It’s not guilt over what he and Rachel did, or what he’s doing for Hunter.

It’s the kiss with Blaine; it’s seeded itself into his skin and bones, Blaine’s lips and eyes burned into his memory, the way he felt and the smell of his cologne, his raspberry scented hair gel. He smiles to himself and it’s the same overwhelming feeling as earlier in the car, bubbling to the surface, breaking free from a place he never knew he possessed. Maybe he really does have feelings for Blaine.

He shakes his head and rolls his shoulders, attempts to shake his unease. He steps into the shower and turns on the water, hoping that the shift from cold to warm will bring him solace.

 

.

 

**27**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – BLAINE’S BEDROOM – night**

 

He can’t stop thinking about it. The entire day has been spinning circles in his head for hours now and he doesn’t think it’ll stop any time soon. Something changed with Sebastian today.

The car drive home was heavenly, the thought that he could make Sebastian laugh too, not the smile or grin but a boyish laugh a pitch higher than his speaking voice—it did things to his stomach, made it turn and flutter and it’s unlike anything he’s felt before. He’d reached out for Sebastian’s hand without thinking, without the need to think, the feel of Sebastian’s fingers lacing through his. It was natural, organic, something that’s been growing for the past week. He can’t decide if it’s because Sebastian’s the only one so close to him here, the proximity to another human being forcing him to feel, or if there are actual feelings involved. He likes Sebastian, a lot, when he’s honest and unguarded, when he lets himself go and someone real shows through the cracks.

But then there was that kiss. What was that? How did it happen? How had he let it happen?

He still feels Sebastian’s lips on his own, the gentle slide of his tongue, the smell of his hair and his skin, something boyish about that, too. He’d never been kissed like that, with such passion despite the slow pace, he’d never felt that wanted or wanted someone so badly. It was never like that with Kurt, not the passion, not the heat, not the utter and complete lack of obligation. Despite everything, the flirting and the questions and his manifesto, he got the feeling Sebastian didn’t want anything from him he was reluctant to give him.

Which proved to be the problem.

Sebastian stopped him thinking, short-circuited something inside his brain and overrode everything he thought he believed. He wanted to surrender to Sebastian, he wanted the kisses and touches, the heat and lack of clothing, he wanted to feel Sebastian all over his skin, to be tempted and taken and—

No, he couldn’t trust himself with Sebastian.

Maybe he’s lucky Sebastian acted out, that he chose insult over reason, because he wouldn’t have been able to resist. He kissed Sebastian back, there was no hesitation, and he’d do it again.

He still doesn’t know how he managed to leave Sebastian behind, how he made it to his car with his legs still so unsteady. He drove around aimlessly for hours, trying hard to forget about everything that happened, but the more he tried, the easier it was to remember. And his time with Sebastian had been memorable.

He’d skipped dinner in favor of hiding in his room, realizing that he couldn’t possibly face Sebastian without something happening again. He’d been shut up in here for hours, sitting on his bed, lying on his bed, putting on his PJs in the hopes of catching some sleep. But nothing worked, the nervous flutter in his stomach was still there, and every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Sebastian.

What is he going to do?

There’s a knock at the door, and only a small part of him hopes it’s Rachel. He hasn’t seen her since lunch, and he’s not sure he has the nerve to tell her what happened today, breaking up with Kurt and kissing Sebastian. It’s all still too confusing to spin into a coherent story.

“Come in,” his voice sounds small.

The door opens a few seconds later and of course it’s Sebastian, as gorgeous as ever in some washed out jeans and a blue V-neck shirt, his hair still wet from a shower, or a swim, who knows.

Sebastian closes the door behind him and stands back against it, a distance between them that seems impossible to bridge. “I came to say goodbye,” Sebastian says, a new sound in his voice, sad almost.

He gets up from the bed, stands opposite Sebastian, but respects the distance he forces on him. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the city,” Sebastian answers. “Might head to France for the rest of the summer.”

His heart drops, the thought of that great a distance more than he can bear. But maybe that’s what he needs to clear his head. Maybe that’s what they both need. “I think that’s for the best,” he says.

Sebastian nods numbly, stares down at his feet. He can’t stand to think that he’s the one making Sebastian sad.

“Sebastian, please,” the words are out before he knows it, but they did become friends during this crazy roller coaster ride and he doesn’t like people leaving him because he pushes them away. It’s one of his less charming character traits, the way he retreats inside himself when things get too tough. “I don’t want us to end on bad terms.”

Sebastian looks up at him, draws in a steady breath. “I’m afraid you don’t get a choice,” he says. “You can say what you want about me, but at least I’m not a hypocrite.”

He shakes his head, frowns. “How am I a hypocrite?” he asks, struck that the simple accusation manages to hurt.

“Please, Blaine,” Sebastian scoffs. “You’re hot one minute, cold the next.”

Pain inches across his chest. He’s not this boy, is he?

“You make me feel like I’m not good enough for you.”

 _What?_ Blaine thinks, when did he ever give Sebastian that idea? He wasn’t very accommodating when they first met, but he likes to think he made up for that. Maybe he’s been blind all along; maybe Sebastian really does like him.

“I’m sorry if—”

But Sebastian hasn’t finished. Or maybe he’s tired of his apologies. “You spend all your time preaching about waiting for love and guess what, sweetheart?”

Sebastian takes a step closer. He doesn’t know why Sebastian always insists on standing taller than him.

“Here it is.”

He blinks, and opens his mouth, but the words don’t disappear between them. It’s out there. _Love_.

“Right in front of you,” Sebastian adds. “But you’re going to turn your back on it.”

He’s not—is he? Have his convictions somehow blinded him to the truth? His head keeps spinning, it doesn’t stop, he doesn’t know how to hear this without his heart breaking, without realizing his feelings for Sebastian are stronger than he’s been willing to admit.

“I’ll move on, but you—” Sebastian swallows hard. “You’ll have to live knowing you turned your back on love.”

_No._

“That’s what makes you a hypocrite.” Sebastian turns without casting him another glance.

 _Sebastian’s right_ , the thought strikes him like lightning.

He doesn't want Sebastian to walk out of his life. If it were up to him, if all that really mattered was he and Sebastian and the rest of the world be damned, then yes, he'd be with Sebastian, completely.

And what does the world matter right now, right here in this room? Where's his dad and Shelby? Where's his conscience telling him it's too soon, that he's not in love, that he’s breaking a vow he made because of his mother? He never had anyone tell him he'd know when he found the right boy, that something inside him would shout clearer and louder than anything else.

Right now every cell in his body shouts not to let Sebastian go.

"Wait—" he says, deliberate and purposeful, and he's closing the distance between him and Sebastian before Sebastian decides he's done with him once and for all.

He walks over and puts a hand to Sebastian's hip, the other reaching for the key in the door. He’s acutely aware of his and Sebastian’s body heat now that they’re so close, his heart's pounding in his ears, his body throbs. He can't believe he's going to do this, but it feels right.

He can't let Sebastian walk out of his life.

He turns the key to lock the door, feels Sebastian's hand move up his arm. Nerves rip through him as he looks up to meet Sebastian's eyes, heart racing, his stomach making turns.

He wants this.

Sebastian wants this.

So why not?

He meets Sebastian’s eyes and raises himself on his toes, lips finding Sebastian’s as if they've done it a thousand times, as if they've been doing it for years. His hands are at Sebastian's hips and Sebastian's reach up to cup his face and it's the same as before, heat coiling inside his stomach, tingles down his spine, and it's almost scary how badly he wants to surrender.

He parts his lips and Sebastian licks into his mouth—he moans, Sebastian closer than ever, him and Sebastian all that matter right now, the taste of Sebastian’s tongue, his heat, the way Sebastian sucks at his lips.

Sebastian was right, he’s been preaching his beliefs for so long, but what did all of it mean without the ability to recognize love when it stood right in front of him? He’s never been in love, so how was he to know? How could he have known Sebastian would sneak his way into his heart, so fast and so completely?

He backs them up towards the bed, the same pace as before and he loves how Sebastian leaves this up to him, lets him decide how fast this will go, gives him time to adjust to these new sensations, hands roaming, wanting to touch everywhere at once, Sebastian’s perfect body so close and flush against his.

Sebastian breaks the kiss, eyes finding his, and he thinks he’s asking for permission. Everything he ever thought about Sebastian was wrong, he’s not the bad guy, he doesn’t use all his tricks just to get people to sleep with him. Even if feelings hadn’t come into play before, Sebastian respects this, his boundaries, his newness to all this.

He reaches for Sebastian’s pants, undoes the button, pulls down the zipper.

He’s breathing hard and he’s getting a little lightheaded, but everything seems so clear in pinpoint precision, there’s Sebastian, there’s him, and that’s all that’s important. He wants Sebastian to make love to him, be the one to strip him bare, lay him open for just his eyes to see—he moves his hand to reach inside Sebastian’s pants, wants to feel him like he’s only ever felt himself before, get him hard and know that it’s because of him—

But Sebastian pulls back.

Sebastian looks down at what his hand's doing, and something shifts, something's wrong.

"I can't," Sebastian says.

His hand stills.

Sebastian takes a step back, breath caught in his throat and he swears there are tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian chokes out and staggers another few steps back.

Panic clutches around his heart. What happened? What did he do wrong? He didn’t move too fast, Sebastian wanted this as much as he did, so why is Sebastian rejecting him? Did he mess up, had he waited too long? Or has Sebastian realized that he didn’t want him after all, that he wasn’t worth the trouble, that he wasn’t experienced enough?

Or worse, maybe he didn’t turn Sebastian on.

But the same word ( _wait_ ) or something similar ( _Sebastian, let's talk about this_ ) doesn't escape his lips, can't, because now there's tears in his eyes too and a strangled cry right at the back of his throat when he sees Sebastian turn and head for the door. Sebastian unlocks the door, opens it, and disappears through it. Gone.

He rushes towards the door and locks it again, forehead against the dark wood, shoulders shaking.

Sebastian doesn’t want him.

He turns and sinks down to the floor, where he stays most of the night, holding back tears.


	8. The First Time

**28**

**INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – SEBASTIAN’S BEDROOM – day**

 

He wakes up from the bed dipping to his left, someone’s fingers tiptoeing up his bare chest a few moments later. His journal lays sprawled open on his chest, so he doesn’t need to ask who’s attempting to sneak a peek. Hunter might think of journaling as a silly hobby, but he’s always been curious how many of his secrets it holds.

He grabs his journal and opens his eyes. “Morning.”

“Afternoon actually,” Hunter corrects, seating himself cross-legged at the end of the bed, leaning back against the backboard. It’s strange, he thought Hunter’s loathing of his uncle had always kept him away from this place, but now he’s visited twice in as many days.

“So, how’d it go last night?” Hunter adds, leaning back on his arms.

That’s why Hunter’s here: he wants a status update. Normally he’d be boasting about his victorious conquest of the young Rachel Berry, but his conversation with Blaine afterwards had been nothing short of disastrous and he’s less than eager to stir that all up, even though he’d outlined the encounter in his journal in great detail.

“With who?” he asks, reminded that his brother has more than one interest in his sexual activities.

“Well, I’m assuming everything went smoothly with Rachel.”

Sebastian sighs. If he says nothing Hunter will only pry further. “If you’re asking if I fucked him then the answer is no,” he says, sitting up in the bed.

Hunter smirks. “He shot you down.”

He scowls. “Exactly the opposite.”

He still sees it so clearly, Blaine had looked absolutely delectable last night, or maybe that was his imagination, but he’d played his pitch, told Blaine everything he knew he needed to hear to convince him. And it had worked.

Hunter tries to look sympathetic, but he fails. He’s usually better at faking this. “What went wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs, voice trailing off.

He knew exactly what to say, called Blaine out, and somewhere in the flurry of words his intentions fell in line with something he felt deep inside. He wasn’t joking, Blaine _was_ a hypocrite, turning his back on something he was looking for. His heart had beat faster and faster, words coming easy because there was truth to them.

And Blaine had finally heard him, loud and clear, had surprised him by making the first move, a kiss he wouldn’t soon forget, the passion in his mouth, his hands moving deliberate and determined, hot through his shirt.

“He was right there,” Sebastian adds, absentminded, telling Hunter things he probably shouldn’t. “Practically had his hand around my dick.”

He’d been right about Blaine; he wasn’t a prude or shy about sex—he’d known exactly what he was doing, undoing his pants, reaching a hand inside. What had happened? Blaine had been ready, he’d wanted it, he would’ve given himself over to him and he would’ve taken care of Blaine, made sure his first time was everything it should be. But one look into those hazel eyes, innocent and trusting, ready to give it all to him, bare himself underneath his touch—that one look had been a punch to the gut.

“But it didn’t feel right,” he adds.

Blaine was ready because he’d used clever words and figured out what he wanted; even if he’d meant it he was manipulating Blaine into this the way he had his other partners, clever words disguising his true intentions, flirting and compliments, push and pull. He wasn’t being himself.

He didn’t want Blaine like this.

“You mean you had the chance to fuck him and you didn’t?” Hunter asks, his harsh tone shaking him from his confusion. “God, you’re pathetic.”

“A momentary lapse in judgment,” Sebastian corrects, swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets up, not in the least offended by Hunter’s tone. He did make a bet, fair and square, and he has no intention of giving up his car.

His feelings for Blaine are real, he knows that now, it’s the only thing that can explain his lapse, and there’s nothing in his bet with his brother that had specified exactly how he had to go about taking Blaine’s virginity. Blaine had opened himself up to him, let him inside the most intimate part of him, unafraid of what would happen.

Maybe it’s time he does the same. He’s never done this before, he’s never felt this before, but there’s a first time for everything. In fact, he’ll go see Blaine right now, tell him that last night terrified him, to think that he was exposing himself to another human being so completely.

Blaine would understand.

“If you’re headed to his room you won’t find him,” Hunter calls, turning on the bed, lying down on the covers.

“Why?” He turns. “Where is he?”

Hunter smirks. “He left thirty minutes ago.”

That’s why Hunter’s really here. To gloat.

“Where did he go?” he sneers.

Hunter puts a finger to his lips for effect. “He apologized to your aunt and told her he was going to stay with some friends.”

Hunter’s enjoying this too much, which would have been fine if he still viewed Blaine the same way he viewed all his other conquests. But Blaine’s not a conquest anymore, not a challenge or a toy or his greatest triumph. No, Blaine might be his match.

“You blew it, Sebastian,” Hunter adds. “That boy’s come to his senses.”

He pins Hunter down with his eyes. What is this? Is this some sick form of jealousy? Or did Hunter hate losing that much?

“He’ll never go near you again.”

Hunter knows exactly what to say to strike at the heart of him, knows which buttons to push to set him off. It’s a power he only allowed Hunter because he never thought he’d misuse it, but here it is, plain for everyone to see. What is Hunter’s problem?

 

.

 

**29**

**INT. JAGUAR – day**

 

She’s leafing through Vogue magazine when her cellphone rings.

_Sebastian Smythe calling._

Every time she sees that name light up the screen of her phone her stomach turns, something unsettling dosed with a shot of fear making her blood pump. He could ruin her life with only a few words, make sure Sam’s family and her own turn their back on her by telling them about her sexual orientation. Sam wouldn’t even come to her aid, harboring secrets of his own.

She answers the phone and hopes she can keep her voice steady.

“Quinn, it’s Sebastian,” the voice over the line asks in a rush. “Is he with you?”

She doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about, for some reason Sebastian had fixated on Blaine as he had done with other guys, or even girls. Disappointment rushes through her body now, in herself, for not being a stronger person. She wishes she could be out, like Blaine, like Santana, but her parents would disown her.

“No,” she answers.

“Where is he?”

She sighs. “I don’t know,” she lies, hopes that Sebastian can’t hear the subtle change of pitch in her voice. Santana was right; she’s a terrible liar. It’s a miracle she hasn’t been found out yet. “Look, why don’t you just leave him alone?” she asks, emboldened by her lie.

“ _Where_ , Quinn?!” Sebastian shouts, sounding more frustrated and impatient than angry. She can’t afford to get him angry.

“Okay, he’s with some friends, Mike and Tina,” she splutters, suddenly wishing that Blaine hadn’t texted her with this information. It’s hard to betray the trust of a friend like Blaine, someone she’s been lying to for much longer than these past few days. Blaine has always been there for her when she really needed him. How exactly is this repaying that friendship?

“He caught a train into Penn Station twenty minutes ago,” she adds, long since having realized that she’s nowhere near as brave as a lot of people in her life. And that includes Sebastian.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says.

The line goes dead.

“Thank you?” she mutters to herself as she stares down at the phone in her hand. Since when does Sebastian Smythe thank the people he’s blackmailing?

 

.

 

**30**

**INT. PENN STATION**

 

The train pulls into the station an hour after he says goodbye to Emma. He hated leaving the way he did, with such little explanation and so fast, but he knew Emma would forgive him. Not like he’d forgive himself. He can't help it, he feels like a coward running away like this, putting as much distance as possible between him and Sebastian's rejection. But over the years he'd learned that sometimes he needed to do things for himself and not what others expected. His father expected him to stay, but he couldn't, not now, not after the best and the worst moment of his summer.

He'd heard stories about heartbreak, had experienced it firsthand when his mother died, it devoured and burrowed and never went away. He doesn't think this will ever go away either, Sebastian saying no, turning him down while he'd been the one who'd approached him.

If there's one thing worse than unwanted attention, it's being unwanted. He'd felt it before, invisible at the dinner table at home, especially after his mom died and his dad chose to grieve in private. He compensated by joining team sports and show choir, surrounded himself with friends and later Rachel and Shelby as new family. That's why Sebastian managed to get so close, his inherent inability to be on his own. He'd wanted to see the best in Sebastian and he thinks he saw the truest part of him, maybe none so true as the part he saw last night. The part of Sebastian that realized he wasn't worth the trouble.

After all, he made Sebastian feel inadequate.

He grabs his suitcase and overnight bag when the train pulls into Penn Station, the metal shrieking and moaning to a halt. He hadn't felt entirely comfortable asking Mike and Tina if he could stay over for a few days, at least until he was ready to face Shelby and his dad, but he had few other friends that had remained in the city for the summer, and Mike – as one of his closest friends – had told him it was no problem. Mike, and Tina, his wonderful girlfriend, attended NYU together and lived in a flat they shared with their roommate Matt – he went back home for the summer so he'd be staying in his room.

He follows the current of the crowd along the platform, thinning out before it hits the escalator. He’s been prone to run away before, pull inside himself to get away from his problems rather than face them. But he doesn't want to ask Sebastian why he'd rejected him. At the very least he'd like to spare himself that humiliation. He should've realized by now that he doesn't get what he wants, he has to work hard for the good things in his life. But had it really been that naive to want to let Sebastian be one of those things?

He's lost in thought and not paying much attention, he's lost in a twister of painful thoughts before he notices – he rides the escalator to the top and everything passes in slow motion, the first hint of that perfectly groomed hair, the green eyes, that dazzling smile.

Sebastian's waiting at the top of the stairs for him.

Why is he here?

His eyes don’t release Sebastian; he takes a few steps towards him, and swallows hard.

"H—Hi,” his voice shakes.

Sebastian smiles. “Hey, killer.”

"How did you know I'd be here?" he asks.

Sebastian shrugs, a calm in him he hasn’t seen before. “I have my ways.”

He feels a smile pull at a corner of his mouth. “I'm impressed,” he says, even though there’s still an unsettling feeling at the pit of his stomach: what’s Sebastian doing here?

“Well—” Sebastian takes a deep breath, “I'm in love.”

He blinks, eyes going wide, and he swears his heart’s about to jump out of his chest. Did Sebastian just—? Why now? Why here? Why not last night when he told him not to turn his back on love because it was standing right in front of him?

He can’t read this side of Sebastian at all.

“But—” he starts, and doesn’t know how to continue. He thought he was unwanted, kicked to the curb for another boy who wouldn’t mind giving it up to Sebastian so easily, who was less trouble or maybe just more attractive. But now Sebastian’s in love with him?

Sebastian _ran_.

And then he realizes why Sebastian had to come find him at Penn Station: he ran too.

He’d misinterpreted last night completely.

Sebastian takes a step closer. “Turns out you're not the only one who got scared,” he says.

This is the Sebastian he wants to love, honest and open about his feelings, the Sebastian he fell in love with in the first place. One look at Sebastian had been enough to see the appeal, his charisma, his amazing looks—they had such easy conversations, made all the more special whenever Sebastian did allow him a peek inside.

Why couldn’t Sebastian have told him this yesterday?

Sebastian reaches a hand out for his cheek and they do it automatically now; he closes the distance between their bodies and slots their mouths together, lips and tongues and roaming hands. He locks his arms around Sebastian’s torso, the gesture compensating for their height difference, but he raises himself on his toes too, kissing Sebastian back slow and deep, dizzy with want, his heart too big for his chest.

He’s well aware they’re being watched, there’s people scoffing and pointing and giggling, but he doesn’t care. They’re making out in the middle of Penn Station for the entire world to see and there’s not a single self-conscious thought holding him back. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they’re both out of breath.

“Let’s go to your place,” he says, looking up into Sebastian’s eyes, his pupils blown and he looks so beautiful. He never wants to take his eyes off Sebastian again.

“I don’t want to pressure you.”

He shakes his head, tries to get his breathing under control. “I want to, Sebastian.” No more waiting, he’s tired of waiting, he’s tired of being someone for everyone else but himself. This is his choice, and he wants to be with Sebastian, who cares about Shelby and his father, about his reputation or gossip.

He knows Sebastian, and he’s willing to take a chance on love.

 

.

 

**31**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – SEBASTIAN’S BEDROOM – evening**

 

Blaine calls his friend Mike from the car, informing him that he might be late or might not make it there at all tonight, and swats his shoulder when he catches him smiling. Blaine asks Mike if he knows someone named Sebastian Smythe, but he knew the answer to that: Mike didn’t. He’s not sure how Quinn got the information, maybe through Mike’s girlfriend, and for the first time in his life he’s grateful for girl gossip. He wouldn’t have found Blaine otherwise.

He takes Blaine home with him, far too impatient to drive all the way back to the estate, and his aunt might ask too many questions. The townhouse would do fine, Hunter’s most likely out mentoring Rachel at NYADA and over the years the staff had learned when to stay gone.

Blaine locks hands with him as they make their way inside, stay silent as they traverse the lobby, sneak glances at each other while taking the elevator to the second floor. Blaine’s shy smiles make him feel giddy and he wants to know all the ways to make him smile, make him blush—there are so many things he wants to do to Blaine. _With_ Blaine.

“This is your room?” Blaine asks, releases his hand, and makes his way further into his bedroom, looking around at his books, draws his fingers over the spines, lingers on the few pictures he kept of his childhood, studies the titles on his trophies.

Blaine turns to him. “You were in show choir too?”

“ _Too_?” He asks, closing the door behind him, and saunters a few steps closer. “You sing, killer?”

Blaine cocks an eyebrow. “I do more than just sing.”

He grins. “Cocky.”

Blaine huffs a laugh and twists on his heels. “It’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Something more—” Blaine gestures around the room.

“If you’re about to say _manly_ I should warn you that’s going to severely bruise my ego.”

“Your _manly_ ego?” Blaine teases, and slinks one final step closer. Blaine puts his hands at his waist – it seems to be a thing for him – only now his hands wanderup his sides, palms skimming over the fabric of his shirt and then Blaine’s hands are digging into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss.

Blaine’s arms curl around his neck and he turns desperate for it, Blaine closer, Blaine everywhere, his taste and smell and those little noises he makes, somewhere between a whimper and a moan. His own arms lock around Blaine’s waist, pulling his body flush against his, going pliant against him.

Blaine pulls back, panting. “Do you have con–condoms?” he stutters.

“Safety first, killer,” he blurts out, until he hears himself say it and he cringes. “Is there any chance you could pretend I didn’t say that?”

Blaine shakes his head and smiles. “Idiot,” he says, but he’s kissing him again before he can even act insulted. He doesn’t know how Blaine manages to make him this fumbling fool, tripping over his words, blurting out random responses, desperate kisses reminiscent of a schoolboy falling all over himself to impress the boy of his dreams.

He’s never considered what that boy might look like.

Could Blaine be that boy? The one to make him rearrange his priorities, make him walk around all smiles and heart-eyes? He’s never dreamed like that, it never mattered because he never thought he’d stumble into something that had always seemed like a waste of time.

But not Blaine. Blaine’s not a waste of time. He’s happy he stumbled onto Blaine.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks as he twists away from Blaine lips.

“Absolutely,” Blaine answers and locks lips with him again.

 

.

 

There’s no turning back now. He was ready last night, ready to give himself over to Sebastian because he’d realized Sebastian was right: he’s in love, and he’d been preaching his beliefs long enough to know what that meant. What he made it mean. So yes, he’s sure about this, he wants Sebastian, wants to feel him and taste him and learn all the things he can possibly do to him to drive him crazy.

Sebastian backs them up against a dresser, hoisting him up so he can sit on it, making the kissing part a lot easier. He pulls him closer again, Sebastian positioned between his legs, the movement knocking a lamp off the dresser.

He releases Sebastian’s lips to assess the damage done, the lamp in shards on the floor.

“I never liked that thing anyway,” Sebastian says and he loses all focus on the decor when he feels Sebastian’s lips at his jaw, tongue licking a line, kisses raining down his neck. He grabs a tighter hold, tilting his head to give Sebastian better access, overwhelmed by his need to feel those lips everywhere, not just his lips or his face, but the rest of his body, the most intimate parts of him.

Sebastian reaches down and palms over his crotch, setting off a familiar pounding he feels when he touches himself, only now it’s Sebastian’s hand and it’s a strange sensation to experience for the first time, someone else touching him like this. But it’s not an unpleasant or uncomfortable sensation in the least. Sebastian tries to unbutton his pants, but his hard-on makes them insufferably tight and Sebastian gets nowhere.

“Fuck this,” Sebastian mutters and suddenly there’s strong arms lifting him up. He tightens his legs around Sebastian’s waist, fear of falling dissipating because Sebastian’s holding him tight and he’s so strong, navigating them to the other side of the room without releasing his lips once.

Until Sebastian’s legs hit the bed and he loses his balance and they’re both tumbling down. He huffs a laugh and covers a hand over his eyes, trying really hard not to make this awkward. But he likes the idea that he turns Sebastian a little flustered.

“Don’t laugh,” Sebastian croaks, pulling his hand away from his face. “Think about my manly ego.”

He cackles another laugh, shaking on the bed; he doesn’t think he’s loved Sebastian more than right in this moment. Maybe he doesn’t mean to make this funny, but the playful note is putting him at ease. “I’m sorry,” he giggles, and pulls Sebastian down into another kiss. They keep kissing, their mouths moving together as if they’ve been doing it forever, the drag and pull of their tongues slow but passionate.

Sebastian reaches down again and palms his hard-on, the sudden jolt of excitement making his cock twitch and his hips buck up. Every nerve in his body feels high-strung and on fire and yes, he gets the appeal of this now, why people make time for this or why someone would have a one night stand. Being with Sebastian has already made so many things clear, what love feels like—light and complete and a little painful too; what he really wants from a boyfriend—share meaningful conversations and the passion and the intimacy, all things he’s never felt combined before.

He wonders if he’s taught Sebastian anything.

He releases Sebastian’s lips and looks up at him, a hand on his face and one digging into his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Sebastian’s hand stills and there’s a sudden panic in his eyes.

“You’re here with me, right?” he asks, hates how small his voice sounds, but Sebastian has done this before—he doesn’t want Sebastian to do this on autopilot, he wants him right here in the moment with him, sharing everything.

Sebastian brushes his nose against his. “All the way, killer,” he answers, his green eyes settling in his, hand travelling up to his face. “I’m right here.”

Sebastian settles on his side, pulling his body with him until he’s lying half draped over Sebastian. It’s still too constricting a position to be entirely comfortable, but they sink into a series of kisses, short and hot and long and hard, his thoughts blurring, head dizzy and somehow he knows it’s the same for Sebastian. They’re in this together, Sebastian’s right here with him. He knows that.

He loses track of time, not a rare occurrence whenever he’s with Sebastian, rutting against Sebastian’s leg, kisses growing more urgent by the minute and now he’s the one who reaches down, running a hand over Sebastian’s erection, making him release his lips in a gasp. Sebastian’s eyes find his, and he nods, _yes okay, I’m ready. I want you_.

Sebastian caresses his fingers down his neck, and presses a kiss to his lips, changing their positions on the bed until he’s on top again. He kisses down his neck and starts unbuttoning his shirt, leaving a kiss on every freshly revealed patch of skin, Sebastian’s hands hot on his skin once his shirt is all the way open. His lips move down, the graze of Sebastian’s teeth interchanged with the brush of the tip of his nose and his fingertips, tongue followed by a kiss.

He can’t believe this is happening, his first time had always seemed like such a far-off actuality, something he built towards while trying to make sense of his life, growing up, getting to know himself, but now it’s here and it’s with a person he loves and no matter what happens it’s already perfect.

Sebastian’s lips move further down until he reaches his pants again, the button popping easily this time. Sebastian nuzzles at his hipbone and he feels his toes curl, Sebastian’s breath hot against his skin, hands massaging at his sides. His skin crawls with anticipation and he starts shaking, but not because he’s cold. Sebastian skims his chinos down his hips achingly slow, staring up at him, stepping off the bed to strip them off.

He sits up in one smooth move, acting on instinct, hooking his legs around Sebastian’s knees. He stretches his arms out under Sebastian’s shirt, lets his fingers linger over his smooth skin, strong muscles he’s been fantasizing about touching—nothing had prepared him for this, the reality of it all, the heat, the excitement when he feels Sebastian’s abdomen tense at his touch. Sebastian pulls his shirt over his head and he’s _flawless_ , just as gorgeous as he was that night in the pool, only now he’s up close and personal and he can’t stop touching, can’t stop staring, can’t stop himself from going slightly self-conscious at the sight of him.

He kisses Sebastian’s stomach, tongue spooning into his bellybutton, and he smiles against Sebastian’s skin when he feels the shivers that shake through his body. _Yes_ , he wants to know all the ways to make Sebastian shake. He kisses a trail down until he hits Sebastian’s pants. Unlike his, Sebastian’s pants are much easier to handle, the button pops and he pulls the zipper down like he’d done last night.

He looks up, Sebastian’s eyes dark, lips parted.

“Don’t worry, killer.” Sebastian rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not running again.”

It’s all the assurance he needs to move forward. He eases Sebastian’s pants down, eyes locked with his, until Sebastian steps out of his pants and his eyes are drawn to Sebastian’s black boxers, cock half-hard, and he feels his lips part. He never thought he could want this so bad. He’s seen this stuff in porn videos online – just because he’d taken a vow didn’t mean he couldn’t learn about sex – but some of those things had seemed so advanced, so well beyond him that he thought if he ever did have sex it would take time for him to learn. He never thought he’d get this much pleasure from his first time.

And they’ve only gotten started.

He leans forward and nuzzles Sebastian’s groin, lips parting, mouthing at Sebastian’s cock through his boxers. Sebastian breathes in sharp, hand curling at the back of his head, his other on his shoulder for support. He has no idea what he’s doing, he’s just mimicking what he’s seen online, lips pulled over his teeth, kneading at Sebastian’s cock—his own gets harder when he feels Sebastian’s grow, the thought that he can do this to Sebastian maddening. The idea that Sebastian could do this to him driving him out of his mind.

He puts his tongue flat against the fabric, licking a line up to the tip of Sebastian’s cock, where the fabric is damp with precome. Sebastian groans and shakes again, fingers pulling at his hair. “Blaine, stop,” he chokes out.

He pulls back. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian interrupts, leans down for a kiss. “Safety first, killer,” he says, and at this point he thinks Sebastian’s actually trying to make him laugh. He doesn’t want to let his insecurities get the best of him, but somehow they manage to creep in even during his most unguarded moments.

“Besides,” Sebastian adds, kneels down between his legs, and winks at him. “It’s my turn.”

He chuckles, but his voice shakes with nerves.

“Come here,” Sebastian says softly, voice low.

He reaches his arms around Sebastian’s neck, but pulls back when Sebastian tries to kiss him, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. His stomach flutters, the reality of all this sinking in: he’s going to lose his virginity to the boy he loves. Sebastian tries to kiss him again but he moves out of reach again.

“Stop teasing,” Sebastian groans.

He giggles.

“Try harder,” he whispers, finally letting Sebastian capture his lips. He moans when Sebastian’s tongue licks his, Sebastian’s fingers a soft caress down his arms as he eases his shirt off his shoulders. His skin tingles, his _everything_ tingles, body relaxed and tense at the same time and he’s almost sure that shouldn’t be possible.

Sebastian hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He releases Sebastian’s lips, breathing hard.

“Okay, killer?”

He nods, licks his lips, lifting himself off the bed slightly so Sebastian can remove his boxers, a rush running through him because Sebastian sees him _naked_ , and it’s not uncomfortable or awkward, it’s the next step to this. Sebastian presses a kiss to his lips, to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, while his hands travel lower, finding his cock, thumb dragging over the tip.

He gasps, sparks shooting through his body, responding to Sebastian’s touch the way he hasn’t to his own. “Oh God, Sebastian,” he gasps, Sebastian forming a fist around his cock, pumping once, twice, fist twisting—and Sebastian’s staring at him the entire time, watching carefully, his eyes shining. He leans forward and settles his forehead against Sebastian’s, whimpering a moan every time Sebastian changes his rhythm, holds his cock tighter or pumps a little faster.

He wants Sebastian to draw this out for as long as he can, wants to wade in this passion and intimacy and curl up with it. Now that he had it he wants it all and he wants it right, the tension building in his body, desire coiling in him tight.

“Let me blow you,” Sebastian says.

He whimpers, a choked groan at the back of his throat, a heat settling low in his spine, toes curling. He wants to let Sebastian blow him, know what those lips feel like around his cock, but no, now that he has it he wants it all.

“No,” he whispers, thumbing over Sebastian’s bottom lip.

 

.

 

“I want to—” Blaine swallows hard. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“We don’t have to do that now,” Sebastian says, even though every single cell in his body wants to. But he doesn’t want to move too fast, he can settle for a little less if it means getting more afterwards. And if less means a blowjob and some frotting while having this perfect body to himself than so be it. It’s probably not what Hunter had in mind, but who cares about a stupid bet or Hunter when he has this beautiful boy in his bed, willing to trust him with one of the most precious things he can give away.

“I want you to,” Blaine whispers and presses a kiss to his lips. “I trust you.”

He drags his lips across Blaine’s, kisses the corner of his mouth and reaches for the bedside table with one hand, Blaine claiming the other when he tangles their fingers together. It’s daunting for the first time, to have someone tell him how much he trusts him with his body; before it was all about taking advantage, even though he made sure his partner got the pleasure they needed out of it, but it was only ever about his own release. Not anymore. Tonight’s about both of them.

He takes out the lube and a condom and tosses them on the bed. He stands up, Blaine helping him ease out of his boxers. Blaine never ceases to surprise him, his confidence and forwardness—he clearly knows what he wants and it’s so different than anything he’d imagined.

“Lie back,” he says, thumbing a circle at Blaine’s temple.

Blaine scoots back to the center of the bed and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of him naked, downright beautiful, hot in a way Blaine doesn’t even realize himself, cock erect and leaking with precome—he thinks the only reason Blaine doesn’t turn self-conscious is because he’s staring at him the same way, eyes transfixed on his hard-on, lips parted.

“Like what you see, hu, killer?” he asks to lighten the mood.

And Blaine’s response doesn’t disappoint. “Look who’s talking,” he says, and blushes a red he hasn’t seen on him before, but he definitely wouldn’t mind seeing again.

He crawls onto the bed, kissing up the inside of Blaine’s thigh, up his hipbone, so perfectly outlined, nose brushing up his abdomen, taut with tension, chest rising and falling rapidly. Blaine breathes his name over and over again and he thinks he could do this forever, wind Blaine up, ease back, start all over again. He settles their chests together and kisses Blaine again, drunk on his own desire but bathing in Blaine’s, breathing hard beneath him, fingers digging into his hair.

Blaine reaches down between their bodies.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, but chokes on the last word when Blaine holds their cocks together. His hips buck and Blaine’s do as well and Blaine cries out—He looks down at Blaine, a desperation for something more in his bright hazel eyes; he’d fantasized about seeing that look in Blaine’s eyes, but now it’s so much more than that. Blaine’s asking him to love him, trust him, to take care of him body and soul. 

“Sebastian, please,” Blaine begs.

He presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips and rolls his hips again, their cocks rutting together in Blaine’s tight grip. It feels so good, better than it has before and he gets it now, he understands how feelings make this kind of intimacy better—this is about more than a physical connection, it’s sharing something so intimate with another person that it brings them closer together.

Blaine grabs the condom next to his head and opens the packaging carefully. He swallows hard, the sight of Blaine so sure yet so vulnerable at the same time humbling, because what has he ever done to deserve this? Blaine’s virginity isn’t the only precious thing in the room with them, so is his trust and his love, and he’ll never do anything to betray that.

Blaine rolls the condom down his hard-on, his grip even tighter and he doesn’t bother holding back a groan; if Blaine trusts him with his vulnerability then he can trust Blaine with his, let him see things no one else has before. Blaine grabs the lube as well—he holds out his hand and lets Blaine squirt a generous amount on his fingers.

“One rule,” he says, spreading the gel out over his fingers.

Blaine chuckles. “There are rules?”

He presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. “My rules,” he clarifies, even though he’s never stopped to explain his rules to anyone else before. But Blaine’s not everyone else. “You have to talk to me. You have to tell me if you want me to stop.”

Blaine nods, body nervous all over and he wishes there was something he could say to put him at ease. But he knows that nothing will not make this Blaine’s first time and all he can really do is be right there with him, hold him, take care of him.

He takes one of Blaine’s hands and pins it down with his next to his head, fingers entangled. He kisses Blaine, deep, both as a distraction and a way to get him to relax, his other hand reaching down between them, index finger finding Blaine’s hole, entrance slick with lube, massaging at it until he can feel some of the tension leaving Blaine’s body. He can draw this out, he knows he should because the more Blaine lets go the more his body takes over, the less he thinks about this, the easier it’ll be for them both.

The next twenty minutes are spent prepping Blaine, working his fingers inside his ass, stretching him. He doesn’t stop kissing Blaine once, even though he loses Blaine to a gasp or moan from time to time. Blaine’s body shudders the first time his fingers brush his prostrate; Blaine clutches an arm around his shoulders and presses down on his fingers, three of them working him open.

“Oh God,” Blaine pants. “Sebastian, _please_.”

He presses a series of kisses to Blaine’s lips while he settles into a better position between Blaine’s legs. He slicks his cock up with more lube and applies some more to Blaine’s ass, too much probably, but he doesn’t want to put Blaine through any discomfort he can avoid. And then he lines up his cock with Blaine’s ass, tip pushing at his hole. Blaine tenses and he holds back, groans out his frustration even though he wishes he hadn’t—this will take time, patience, he can do this for Blaine.

“Are you okay?” he asks, releases Blaine’s hand, reaching down to fist Blaine’s cock.

Blaine nods wordlessly, hands clutching at his shoulders, fingers digging in. “I’m okay,” Blaine whispers, shudders when he forms a fist around his cock. He captures Blaine’s lips again, they moan against each other’s lips and Blaine relaxes again, gives him a little more leeway to push further inside.

He eases inside at a painstaking pace, gauging Blaine’s minute reaction, every hint of apprehension or hesitation—he can see Blaine struggling, biting down on his bottom lip, feels his fingers digging tighter into his back, and he slows down even more.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he breathes and buries his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck, the tight stretch of Blaine’s ass around his cock setting every one of his nerve-endings on fire, shivers up and down his spine and he needs all his willpower to hold still. “Blaine, you feel so good,” he mutters, finally bottoming out. “So good,” he repeats, stills, tracing his lips down Blaine’s neck, presses a kiss behind Blaine’s ear.

Blaine hums.

He pulls back and looks at Blaine: his eyes are closed. “Hey.” He thumbs at Blaine’s cheekbone.

Blaine opens his eyes with some difficulty.

“Rule still applies,” he says, his body screaming for him to move, but Blaine’s clearly experiencing some discomfort, still adjusting to a very new sensation and he has no intention of adding to that pain. He knows how this can hurt, but he also knows the eventual pay-off, the pain making way for pleasure, some of the pain strangely exciting and then pleasure taking over.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Blaine whispers, pants, fingers pulling at his hair.

“Okay.” He kisses Blaine, swallowing the moans escaping him when he rolls his hips, pulls out a short way and drives back inside. It’s not enough for him, he wants so much more, but he’ll settle for this for a little while. “I’m right here, killer,” he whispers. “Right here.”

He keeps up the movements, shallows thrusts into Blaine’s ass, a dizzying rhythm he goes drunk on—it’s different than anything he’s ever experienced before, an intimacy he didn’t think himself capable of until now, the need for Blaine to be as present as he is, and if this is all he’ll get it’s all he’ll give, take, it doesn’t matter anymore. He only wants to know this side of Blaine. They can perfect it later.

“Sebastian,” Blaine whispers again, and he feels the shift in Blaine’s body, how his hips start moving with him, breathy sighs with every short thrust, a moan and the clench of his hands; he’s never seen the change so clearly, he’s never been so patient with anyone, never watched anyone closely enough to see them relax underneath him.

Blaine’s curls lie wet across his forehead, drops of sweat knitting together in his hairline. He can tell Blaine has trouble focusing by the ways his eyes keep fluttering closed, his pleasure struggling to take over and—

It takes his breath away.

He stills.

Blaine opens his eyes, moves his hands to his face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, mistaking his reverie for confusion.

 _I love you_ , he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s only saying it because they’re having sex. But it’s there, the feeling, the line, _the truth_.

“You’re flawless,” he utters instead, and that’s the truth too, so true it’s almost painful and he thinks this must be what love feels like, something that’s there even when the other person isn’t around,  a little painful but that’s what makes it real, something he’ll carry with him wherever he goes.

“I love you,” Blaine whispers and pulls him down into a kiss.

Yes, he loves Blaine too and he’ll tell him that in an unguarded moment when it can mean more, when it can ring true and he can see the effect it has on Blaine, when it’s not just something physical but emotional too.

His hips pick up the same shallow pace as they lose themselves in another kiss, a long embrace that turns desperate when Blaine matches his rhythm, hips meeting his short trusts. A slow heat builds at the bottom of his spine. He reaches an arm around Blaine’s waist, moves it down and hooks a hand around his ass, lifting him off the bed, holding him closer, tighter, kissing his neck and collarbone, Blaine pulling his legs up.

He pulls out further this time, thrusting back inside in one smooth stroke; Blaine cries out and he stills again, buried balls deep in Blaine’s ass, desire clawing at him for release, but he can’t hurt Blaine, not when he’s like this, open and vulnerable and so flawless, so very flawless—

“I’m okay,” Blaine says, back to stroking his hair. “You won’t hurt me.”

He shudders, cock twitching inside Blaine’s ass, the tight heat so familiar but new all the same. He thrusts once to make sure Blaine’s okay but he whimpers this time, his body visibly relaxing again after the intrusion, enough of a sign that he can start setting a pace. He thrusts again and again, and again, and Blaine throws his head back, lips parting in a moan, chest heaving deeper every time he pushes inside.

He can feel his release creeping closer, pressure building in his groin, hips losing their rhythm. He fists Blaine’s cock, wants to see Blaine come and fall apart with him, but it’s the sight of Blaine that unravels him first: his jaw slack and mouth open, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown—his whole body shudders and he comes, orgasm crashing through him and he almost loses his balance, almost slumps over and crashes down on top of Blaine, the strength of his orgasm leaving him weak.

“Sebastian,” Blaine drawls out again, his hips bucking up into his fist.

He means to tighten his grip around Blaine’s cock, but he thinks the better of it: Blaine had stopped him from blowing him before, but he doubts he’s in any state to do it now. And he needs to make Blaine feel good, needs Blaine to know that he can take care of him and it’s not only about his orgasm.

He pulls out and kisses down Blaine’s neck, his chest, sweat salty on his tongue. Blaine is breathing hard, his body taut with tension all over and he knows it won’t take long, Blaine’s so close, so beautiful and he can’t wait to see him come.

He wraps his lips around Blaine’s cock, sucking up and down his length; Blaine draws in a sharp breath and shudders, knees drawing up further, fingers tangling tighter in his hair—when Blaine orgasms his hips slam forward, but he relaxes his throat, swallows as much as he can, Blaine fucking his throat shallowly as he rides through his release. He sucks until Blaine’s completely spent, until his hips stop stuttering and the last twitches leave his groin, his body melting down into the mattress.

His body melts down too, mouth releasing Blaine’s cock. “God, Blaine,” he grunts, his own cock twitching on the sheets with aftershocks. He rests his head down on Blaine’s stomach, his head bobbing gently with every heave of Blaine’s chest. He gets it now, Blaine’s insistence that sex and love went hand in hand, two sides of a scale but better together, better balanced—this is the moment he wants to bottle, live in it, wade in it for as long as he possibly can.

He lies there for what must be half an hour, listening to Blaine’s breathing coming down, Blaine’s fingers carding gently through his hair, his own fingers drawing random patterns at Blaine’s hip.

"Come here," Blaine whispers eventually, both of them having caught their breath.

He stirs slowly, body sluggish and spent, dragging himself up the length of Blaine’s body. Blaine still feels warm, absolutely perfect, and if it were possible to get him even closer he would have tried. He settles his body against Blaine’s, damp with sweat all over, skin touching wherever it can.

Blaine tangles his legs with his, their arms twisting around each other’s torsos, and then they sink into a match of kisses, deep lazy kisses, hands caressing each other’s skins, lips losing track of time, languid dizzying strokes of each other’s tongues.

 

.

.

.

 

It’s noise from the street that rouses him in the morning, a car honking and a truck backing up.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes yet, sleep still attempting to lure him into a slumber and he lets it, the commotion outside dying out, birdsong returning. It goes so quiet he becomes aware of the body pressed up against him in the bed, warm and inviting, curled around him the same way they’d gone to sleep. He stretches his legs, trying to chase away his drowsiness, reluctant to pass up the experience of waking up next to someone.

Sebastian’s breath fans against his ear, and by the sound of it he’s still deep asleep. One of his arms lies curled around his waist, fingers of their left hands still tangled, Sebastian’s other arm underneath his pillow. He blinks his eyes open, sunlight already streaming into the room, and he idly wonders how long they’ve been sleeping. But he doesn’t move, he basks in the peace and quiet, the warmth of Sebastian’s body, the movement of Sebastian’s chest against his back.

Somewhere in the room a phone buzzes. He can’t remember if he turned his phone off or not, or if Sebastian’s phone has a ringtone, but at the second buzz he decides he better check it out.

He slowly extracts himself from Sebastian’s arms, his body instantly missing the warmth and comfort of the bed. He reaches for his boxers and his shirt on the floor and looks around the room. Sebastian’s clothes lie interspersed with his beside the bed, his pants underneath Sebastian’s.

He digs for his phone. Two missed calls. Five new messages. And here he thought he’d taken care of everything when he called Mike.

The two calls are from Shelby, and so are most of the messages, asking him where he is. He’d really hoped to avoid getting caught running for at least one day.

Text from Shelby: _Why aren’t you answering your phone?_

Text from Shelby: _Answer your phone!_

Text from Shelby: _Emma said you lef_ _t yesterday? Where are you??_

Text from Shelby: _Blaine, where are you? Your father and I are worried sick. Call me._

He’d always appreciated Shelby’s role in his life. She’d made it very clear from the start that she wasn’t replacing his mother, even though he’d been old enough to realize no one could ever do that. Somehow she’d managed to not only become a mother figure, she kept the memory of his mother alive in him in his father. Shelby talked about his mother, asked him about her and made sure enough of his father remained his so he wouldn’t have to be jealous.

Shelby was the first one he’d told about his sexual orientation, because he knew she had an effect on his father not many people had and she’d be able to ease him into the idea of having a gay son. She was there right next to him when he told his father, and his father reacted calmly, even though he still caught him making derogatory remarks sometimes. But the experience had brought him and Shelby closer together.

She’d never really forced her way into his life until very recently, when he and Rachel hit puberty and boys got in the mix. For some reason she’d never really worried about Rachel, but once he’d reconnected with Kurt she made sure to actually read up on gay sex, warn him about the dangers of unprotected sex or having sex too soon—the fact that he’d been preaching his mother’s vow for years hadn’t seemed to matter.

He hates to think what she would have to say about losing his virginity to Sebastian.

The fifth text, much to his surprise, comes from his dad: _Son, give us a call when you get this_. He knows his dad probably sent it at Shelby’s insistence, but he’s still touched.

Behind him, Sebastian hums in his sleep. He peers over his shoulder to see Sebastian turn on his stomach, arms digging underneath the pillows. He can’t bring himself to look away, the thought that this gorgeous guy had fallen in love with him still completely overwhelming, memories of their time together enough to excite him again.

His phone buzzes in his hands.

Text from Rachel: _Mom’s making me text. Hope you’re having fun! (Tell me all about it later?) xx R_

He grins at Rachel’s message—more than anything he’s grateful he gets along with Rachel. She’d been alone with her mom for years, and she had a dad who she saw pretty regularly, but one look at Rachel and her beaming smile had assured a friendship that had lasted for eight years. More than his best friend, he considered Rachel a sister.

He looks back at Sebastian and wonders what to do. He doesn’t want to call Shelby, explaining his whereabouts would either require him to lie or to reason with her about making his own choices. Calling his dad – if he got through – would result in the same thing, and he knew that by ‘us’ his dad really meant he should call Shelby.

How can he explain this? He has every intention of telling Shelby and his dad about Sebastian, but this thing between them is still so new and he wants to keep it to himself. Maybe he can tell them after the summer, when he’s off to college and their influence is further away. It all depends on what Sebastian wants, maybe he won’t be so comfortable meeting his parents.

All in good time.

There’s only one person he contacts. Rachel will know what to say to calm down her mom; he can’t wait to update her on his life.

Text to Rachel: _Spent night with Sebastian. Explain later. Cover for me._

He gets up to pick up all the clothes off the floor, making him realize his ass is a little sore. It’s a mild discomfort, it’s nothing compared to the knowledge that Sebastian took such care of him, made sure it hadn’t hurt. He can live with a little soreness.

He walks over to the window and stretches, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading in his chest when he watches Sebastian asleep in the bed, unguarded, sheets bunched around his waist. He hadn’t known what love was until yesterday, it was a childish fantasy that seemed beyond his comprehension for at least another few years. Who knew that Sebastian of all people would prove him wrong?

 

.

 

He wakes up with half his face buried in the pillows, someone shuffling around the room. Someone who should decidedly still be in bed with him. He’s not beyond a morning cuddle in general, though he thinks that’s probably a little more Hunter’s style, but he and Blaine had slotted together so well, his body spooned around Blaine’s, their hands locked, his lips at Blaine’s temple. With Blaine the cuddling felt more than an indulgence. It felt right.

He stretches out long and turns around, aware that he’s being watched from the window.

“Hey,” Blaine says.

“Hey.”

He wipes at the sleep in his eyes, leaning up on his elbows, taking a moment to appreciate Blaine the way Blaine’s so obviously appreciating him. His hair’s uncurled and he’s left to wonder why Blaine insists on taming it all the time. He could run his fingers through it all day and night. Blaine’s only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt he must’ve found in his drawers, still looking entirely too fuckable.

“What are you doing all the way over there?”

Blaine smiles. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, and walks over to the bed.

He turns on his side, shifting his weight to one elbow, drawing Blaine in for a kiss. There’s so much of this that’s new to him, not the physicality, not even the kissing, but the intimacy, this consistent need to be around another person because he can.

“You okay?” he asks, rubbing at Blaine’s back.

Blaine smiles, fingers reaching for his chest, tracing random patterns over his skin. “I’m fine.”

He pulls Blaine down into a kiss. He wants to ask him to stay for breakfast, or lunch, he’s not sure what time it is. He wants to ask Blaine to stay _forever_ , but that sounds too much like a cheesy line from a Disney movie. Hunter will be home by now though, and for the time being he thinks it’s best to keep Blaine away from his brother.

Blaine releases his lips, a kiss to the corner of his mouth and pulls back to look at him. There’s an insecurity in his eyes he doesn’t recognize, it’s hurt almost, careful. “Was it—” Blaine hesitates.

“It was perfect, Blaine,” he answers, presses another kiss to his lips, thumbs along his jawline. “You were perfect.”

He can’t count the amount of times he’s said that without meaning it, that he said it because it was warranted in the moment or because it was yet another level of manipulation. Right now he feels the words fall short of achieving their goal. Last night wasn’t justperfect, it was complete and intimate and he feels like it brought them closer together. He knows a side of Blaine no one else does, and he wants to keep it that way, keep Blaine to himself, be the only one who gets to touch him like that.

They sink into another kiss, hands getting in the way because they’re reaching for each other’s faces at the same time. He gives up and reaches around Blaine’s waist instead, pulls him back into the bed with him, both of them settling on their sides.

“I should go,” Blaine breathes, his reluctance apparent when he puts their foreheads together and draws a hand through his hair. He doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of that. “I don’t want anyone to worry.”

He smiles, kisses just shy of Blaine’s lips. “I’ll get Craig to drive you.”

“A cab would—”

He drowns out Blaine’s words with his lips.

Blaine chuckles. “Safety first?” he asks.

He nods, smiling. “Now you’re getting it.”

It still takes them another half hour before they manage to stumble out of the bed, kissing and groping. He could do it all over again, he’s confident he will do it all over again, become what Blaine needs him to be, put someone else’s desire before his own—doing all those things to Blaine, hearing him moan and gasp, that was all the reward he needed.

In the past a night like last would make it into his journal, would get intimate descriptions and an analysis of everything that had gone right. But not Blaine, not anymore. Blaine has no place in his journal.

Blaine’s phone buzzes two times with a text.

“So much for not worrying anyone,” he says.

Blaine shakes his head. “It’s just Rachel,” he answers, though judging by the frown on Blaine’s face he guesses the text says something worrying. He wonders if Rachel would ever tell Blaine or anyone else about their time together, and the thought awakens a sudden panic: what would Blaine think of him if he ever found out he’d slept with one of his best friends? Even worse, he’d slept with Rachel the same day he’d kissed Blaine for the first time.

He’s never really believed in wallowing in the past, but he suddenly wishes he had realized his true feelings for Blaine sooner.

The car’s waiting for them downstairs; he opens the door of the black Sedan, but Blaine turns to him before climbing inside.

“See you soon.”

He grins. “Bet your ass.”

Blaine takes a step forward and pulls him down. They lose themselves in another few minutes of kissing, neither of them aware that Hunter’s spying on them from the second floor window. 


	9. The Break Up

**32**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE _–_ HUNTER’S BEDROOM _–_ day**

 

He purposely allows his fingers to brush Jesse’s when he hands him the drink, the touch featherlight but present nonetheless, a gentle nudge in a very interesting direction. He’s noticed Jesse’s wandering eyes, not just checking out Rachel’s curves but other girls, and more notably, other guys.

Jesse looks nervous and fidgety, avoiding his eyes as best as he can. He decided a while ago that Jesse was a little naive, how else had he convinced him he only kept the alcohol in his bedroom, but the quality is strangely endearing to him. All this time on the big stage, Hollywood, and somehow Jesse had managed to retain an almost schoolboy naivety about the world at large.

He thinks there must be more to Jesse than meets the eye.

“I really appreciate what you're doing for me and Rachel,” Jesse says, palming a glass of scotch.

He raises an eyebrow. “But?”

Jesse chuckles. “No but.”

But he knows what Jesse’s implying. It’s flattering that he should choose to spare his feelings. “Cassie or Brody used some choice words,” he says.

“They were wrong,” Jesse jumps to his defense. “You're a good—”

His eyes narrow on Jesse’s face. Why the hesitation?

He draws a step closer, close enough to make Jesse even more uncomfortable, but this time Jesse looks up at him, and doesn’t release his eyes.

“Friend?” he suggests.

Jesse’s eyes draw down to his lips. “Rachel said—”

He’s not used to other people making the first move, usually he’s the one to make an insinuation or flirt, but Jesse’s putting himself out there for him—no, Jesse St. James isn’t nearly as saintly as his name suggests.

He puts his glass down on the dresser, takes a deep breath. “That was said in confidence.”

Jesse blinks, sad over the accusation. “I won't tell anyone.”

He shouldn’t have trusted Rachel with one of his secrets, he realized that too late, but somehow it’s tempted Jesse closer and he finds himself ignoring her transgression. Jesse isn’t unattractive, a little too close to home maybe, but the thought of sneaking around under his father’s nose, under Cassie’s nose, now that’s exciting.

“Are you two getting serious?” he asks, tries to throw Jesse off to gauge his response. He doesn’t want to be the guy who jumps to conclusions or appear paranoid, but he needs to make sure Jesse isn’t trying to get him to compromise himself. He keeps his secrets and he keeps them well, and he has very good reasons for it.

Jesse shrugs. “I really like her,” he says, placing his drink untouched next to his, hand flat on the dresser.

“But?” he insists.

Jesse hesitates at first, determined but cautious as his eyes zoom in on his lips again and he leans in. He shoots forward, impatience drawing him closer, mouth crashing against Jesse’s, his hands on Jesse’s face. That same impatience seems to inform Jesse because there’s no more hesitation, just Jesse opening his mouth for him, tongue settling against his, sucking at his lips. He takes complete control of the kiss, exactly the way he likes it, and Jesse lets him.

He pushes Jesse back against the dresser, foot kicking his legs apart so he can settle one of his between them. Jesse moans into his mouth, clutching at his back, pulling his shirt from his pants to feel his skin. His hands roam under Jesse’s shirt, skin smooth underneath his fingertips, and a deeper instinct takes over. He pushes his groin up against Jesse’s. This part of him doesn’t care if he’s discovered, this part wants to be like Sebastian and fuck whoever the hell he wants to, something that’s dangerous for him to give power to, but sometimes he lets it.

Unfortunately before he’s able to let it there’s a subtle knock at the door, so subtle that he knows Sebastian’s gloating without needing to see him. Frustration rips through him, breathing heavy and part of him wants to say ‘fuck it’ and get on with what he’s doing. But he tries to get a grip; he’s never been caught by anyone before and he doesn’t want to grant Sebastian the satisfaction.

Jesse pulls back. “What—”

“It’s just Sebastian,” he says, tugging his shirt back in place. “Come in!” he calls.

The door swings open and in walks Sebastian, a happy trip to his step, but even he can’t hide the look of surprise in his face when he lays eyes on Jesse. “Mr St James.” Sebastian grins.

Jesse looks at him, eyes wide, guilt and confusion riddled all over his face. “I—should go,” Jesse stutters, and he’s so incredibly tempted to call out _“Call me”_ , but for Jesse’s sake he holds it back. Jesse’s entirely too close to home, but he likes the challenge it could pose. He’s too horny to think straight right now.

“Jesse, brother?” Sebastian asks when Jesse’s well out of earshot and probably on his way downstairs already.

“You don’t get to have all the fun,” he answers playfully, and a happy smile crosses Sebastian’s lips. His lip curls in disgust once he’s reminded that Sebastian’s fun had been plucking Blaine’s cherry. “You’re in a good mood.”

A slow grin spreads across Sebastian’s features. “I am,” he answers, but doesn’t look at him.

“You didn’t.”

Sebastian doesn’t answer, he doesn’t really need to. He’d seen enough of their goodbye this morning to know exactly what happened last night. It seems he’d underestimated his brother after all, he never thought he’d get Blaine to break his vow. It’s both exciting and scary, the thought that he’ll be at Sebastian’s mercy sometime soon. Why had he made this bet? He’s a strange mixture of proud and defeated and this sense of not being in control makes him feel very uneasy.

He takes a step towards Sebastian. “And did the blushing virgin rock your world, brother?”

“He—” Sebastian starts, but loses himself in thought and smiles. “Yeah,” Sebastian adds, scratches the back of his head. “It was a whole new experience for us both.”

Sebastian turns pensive, dreamy almost, and he doesn’t like it one bit; he’s losing Sebastian, has been for a while now, but he’ll be damned if he lets him get away easily.

He draws another step closer, eyes Sebastian’s crotch, pushes tight into his personal space. “I assume you’ve come to make arrangements.”

He wouldn’t mind if Sebastian decided to fuck him right here and now, his make-out session with Jesse had made him horny and it’d been far too long since he’d been intimate with someone. And he knows Sebastian would only take something physical, it’s never about feelings for Sebastian—that’s exactly what he needs, a good fuck, Sebastian’s cock up his ass making his body shiver, the sound of skin slapping against skin, teeth and mouths and tongues. Something completely uncomplicated.

“Some other time,” Sebastian answers, still miles away.

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian looks up, brings his face into focus. “I’m not in the mood,” he reiterates.

This can’t be happening, he thinks, he’s too horny for any of Sebastian’s usual jokes, but this seems worse: Sebastian has actually developed feelings for Blaine and it comes at the most inconvenient time. No one rejects Hunter Clarington, especially not someone who’s been fantasizing about this for years.

He closes the distance between their bodies, easing Sebastian back against his bedroom door, hand reaching down to palm at his cock. “I. want. to. fuck,” he enunciates, hoping he makes it clear that he won’t take no for an answer. This was his idea, yes, but only because he knew Sebastian would be unable to resist. Now that Sebastian’s won their bet he’ll be damned if he’s passed up for a boy who was a virgin up until last night.

But Sebastian raises an eyebrow as if he’s surprised by his sudden insistence, and eases him back by pushing at his shoulders.

“And. I. _don’t_ ,” Sebastian says.

His hand leaves Sebastian’s crotch, having achieved little to nothing except turn himself on more. He doesn’t move an inch, balls his hands into fists by his sides, not relinquishing an inch of space between them.

And then Sebastian huffs a laugh.

Sebastian _laughs_ , right to his face and anger races through him like lightning, all but eviscerating his lust.

He will not be passed up for another goody-two-shoes like Brody Weston, someone who got things easy while he worked his ass off every single day to please a world that would jettison him without another thought should anyone find out he’s gay.

“Good afternoon, brother,” Sebastian adds, and leaves the room.

His blood runs cold. Rejected for Blaine Anderson, rejected by a brother who toyed with the world at large and somehow always landed safely back on his feet. He won’t let Sebastian have this, _love_ , with little to no effort. Sebastian never deserved Blaine, and Blaine sure as hell won’t be keeping him.

No, this is war.

 

.

 

**33**

**INT. CLARINGTON ESTATE – SEBASTIAN’S OFFICE – day**

 

He’s still high on it, his time with Blaine, the kissing and touching and the loving whispers. It’s like Blaine’s seeded himself everywhere in his skin, crawling and tingling, it’s new and exciting and he can’t wait to learn it all: all the ways to love Blaine, make him smile and giggle, tell him how disarming he really is, get him to make those noises he made last night all over again in different ways.

And for the first time ever, he’s curious what Blaine could do to him, what could happen if Blaine was in control, if he topped, if Blaine was the one fingering his ass and making him beg.

“I thought we could head to Callbacks?” he asks Blaine over the phone.

“Sounds great,” Blaine answers; his voice sounds equally giddy and excited to spend more time together.

He knows he’s being a sap, they haven’t known each other for that long and anyone who ever told him ‘you’ll know when it’s right’ in relation to his love life had always been met with a pointed laugh and a snide comment. He never had a love life, he had a sex life, and while there was definitely always a moment where he knew he’d met his latest conquest, he doubts that’s what people had in mind.

Now he thinks maybe those people knew exactly what they were talking about.

“Text me the address, I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Perfect,” Blaine says. “I love you.”

He smiles, but he’s decided that when he says it back it’ll be face-to-face. “See you soon, killer,” he says, and ends the call.

“My God,” Hunter’s voice sounds from the doorway. “You’re completely whipped.”

He scoffs. “No, I’m not.”

He hasn’t forgotten Hunter’s little tryst with Jesse this morning, nor has he been able to put Hunter coming on to him from his mind. In any other situation he would have, he’d have taken Hunter up on his offer, stripped him naked and kissed him senseless, he’d have licked every part of his body until it pulsed with anger and frustration, only to keep at that until Hunter begged for it.

If it weren’t for Blaine he would’ve fucked Hunter over his desk and enjoyed every single second of it. He wasn’t whipped, but Blaine had become the sole object of his affection. His mood had nothing to do with it; he hadn’t wanted Hunter because he only wanted Blaine.

Hunter shakes his head, not a hint of humor in his face. “What happened to us?”

“Nothing’s changed,” he says, but realizes all too well everything’s changed. He’s opened himself up to something new, something he’d always stubbornly ignored because of the people in his life: his dad divorced and hopelessly alone; his mother divorced three times, now caught in one adulterous affair after the other; his stepfather heartbroken after losing his first wife, but now loses himself in other women and alcohol whenever he takes a break from work.

Why would he give love a chance when all it seemed to cause was misery?

Yet now here he is, very much in love with Blaine, or something close to it, and everything’s different. The past doesn’t matter anymore, other people even less, and all that truly matters is the beautiful senator’s son who’d somehow slipped his way inside his heart without him noticing.

“You’re in love with him,” Hunter’s voice sounds eerily resentful. “Everything’s changed.”

“It was just a bet.”

Hunter walks over to him again and reaches for his face this time. Before he knows what’s happening Hunter’s mouth is claiming his and he hates how his first instinct is to give in, settle against the hot body throwing itself at him, kiss back with the same verve. He surrenders just a little, Hunter’s tongue sliding slowly against his, lips sucking at his, the kiss wet and sloppy and slowing down for some reason, and his head spins; Hunter’s not usually one to take things slow.

But Hunter’s mouth isn’t Blaine’s, Hunter’s body isn’t Blaine’s, they don’t feel or smell or move the same. There’s an edge to Hunter’s kiss that’s angry, possessive, distrusting.

He pushes Hunter back, breathing labored. “This is ridiculous,” he breathes and tries to laugh, but this whole thing weighs heavy on his chest—he’s never been in love, he’s not sure if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, dizzying in a good way but slightly nauseating too.

“What’s ridiculous, dear brother, is you,” Hunter says, like he’s the little devil that’s been whispering in his ear all along. He’s not without his insecurities about this. “Look at yourself. Look at what you’ve been reduced to.”

He knows Hunter got hurt once, before they became brothers. He never talks about it, but sometimes he’ll catch Hunter in these small private moments and the hurt shows through, the actual person in Hunter shows. He’d always been convinced that if someone like Hunter could get hurt, someone so unlikely to open up to another person, he would be best to stay away from it too.

But he won’t get hurt, that won’t happen to him. Blaine loves him too.

“Have you given any thought to what would happen if this goes public?” Hunter asks, and it touches a nerve more sensitive than he’d thought. He hadn’t thought about it, there hadn’t been any time yet, but now that the question’s out there he can’t help but wonder: would he care what the world thought about him should he start a real relationship with Blaine?

“Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind,” Hunter continues, keeps his distance for good reason; he’s about ready to punch his brother’s lights out. He doesn’t want to hear any of this. But the more Hunter’s words sink in the more questions rise. What would people think? What would people say once they found out a senator’s son was dating someone who’s only ever been attached to scandal?

“Blaine introduces you to daddy, which you know he will, and all your dirty laundry comes out,” Hunter says. “How long do you think it would take his security staff to find the twins? Cooper? Dr Del Monico? It’s a pretty extensive list.”

Hunter digs around in his pocket and pulls out his cell phone. “Actually, why don’t I give the senator a call to save him the trouble,” he says, and starts scrolling through his contacts.

“Put the phone down,” he says, even though he suspects Hunter’s bluffing. But he can’t take that chance, what if Blaine’s father finds out about his reputation? Or worse, what if Blaine really found out about all the people he’s been with, everyone he’s ever manipulated into bed with him, including one of his closest friends, Rachel? Would Blaine ever look at him the same way?

Hunter raises a finger to shut him up. “Shh, this’ll only take a second.”

He shoots forward and rips Hunter’s cell phone from his hands. His body shakes with anger, but even more so with doubt. Blaine already felt insecure about his past, didn’t want to be one in a long line of sexual conquests. But surely Blaine will realize that he can only change his here and now, _their future_ , but not his past.

Hunter doesn’t bother reclaiming his phone.  “Quite the predicament you’re in,” he says.

Hunter’s words settle in his skin. Why is he doing this? All because he rejected him?

“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, aware that he’s losing his footing; bluffing right now would be a mistake. “I’m going to tell him everything.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” Hunter smiles. “You’re in love now.”

He is in love. And Blaine’s in love. Should his past matter?

“Do you honestly believe you’ve done a complete 180 in the week and a half you’ve known him?” Hunter asks, leaning back against his desk. “People don’t change overnight, Sebastian. You and I are two of a kind.”

Hunter chooses a curious time to remember that, now that their relationship threatens to fall apart. If this conversation’s achieving one thing it’s making sure he never lets Blaine anywhere near Hunter. But he knows deep down it’s achieving a lot more, because Hunter’s right, he’s only known Blaine for a short time and Blaine knows nothing about him.

“At least I don’t lie to myself about it.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he lets Hunter talk, lets his own brother tear him down to the ground and stomp all over him.

“You were right last week: he could’ve been your greatest victory,” Hunter adds. “Now all people will see is a senator’s son, shamed, because the little gay boy couldn’t keep his dick in check. He’ll be a laughing stock.”

“You don’t know that,” he sneers.

“I know it’ll never work,” Hunter says. “Deep down you know that too. We’re not cut out for love, Sebastian.”

His eyes lock on Hunter’s face tightly. Hunter’s gone too far this time.

Hunter strikes his final blow: “You’ll only end up breaking his heart.”

He turns on his heels and heads for his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s breathing hard, his heart beating a million miles an hour.

Hunter’s right. He’s no good for Blaine. He doesn’t know what love is, but Hunter does, he knows what love does to a person—it only gets them hurt.

And how is that fair to Blaine? How can he pretend to be someone he’s not because he thinks he’s in love? Maybe he’s not in love at all, maybe he feels this way because Blaine really had been his greatest challenge and his greatest victory. But he’ll get bored eventually.

He can’t do that to Blaine.

Blaine deserves someone who’s sure, someone with a clean past and a clear idea of what he wants, someone who knows intimacy and isn’t insecure about giving it, someone who has his life together. Not him, someone who’s been playing at life, poking at it for fun.

He can’t ruin Blaine’s reputation, potentially uproot his relationship with his parents, just because he thinks he’s in love.

No, he has to let Blaine go before he can ruin him.

 

.

 

**34**

**INT. COHEN-CHANG APARTMENT – day**

 

His skin tingles all over, the memories of Sebastian’s touches still palpable, the kisses and new sensations. He needs to feel that again, he needs to know if it feels that way for Sebastian too. His stomach’s crawling with butterflies and part of him feels silly, because he’s acting like a schoolboy with a crush, only his crush has the same feelings and it’s more than he can handle.

Tina keeps sneaking him glances and giggles every time she catches him lost in thought; she told him it was the same for her when she started dating Mike and it only puts his relationship with Kurt in stark contrast with what he has now. Everything feels exciting now, the thought of seeing Sebastian, talking to him, going out with him on a real date.

He all but runs for the door when he hears the doorbell ring, tries to compose himself before opening the door. He takes a deep breath, opens the door, immediately searching for Sebastian’s eyes, his stomach doing backflips.

“Hi,” Sebastian says, a little lackluster, but he’s too preoccupied taking in the sight in front of him to notice. Sebastian’s wearing a brown suede jacket over a simple white V-neck tee combined with dark jeans. He knows it’s mostly his heart feeling rather than his eyes seeing, but Sebastian looks breathtaking.

“Hey, you’re early,” he says in a rush, too eager to be close to Sebastian again. He takes a step closer and reaches for Sebastian’s face, Sebastian already leaning down to meet him halfway. Their lips touch, his arms reaching up around Sebastian’s neck, Sebastian pulling him into a tight embrace that turns almost desperate. He melts into the kiss, moans into Sebastian’s mouth, forgetting where he is again.

Until someone clears their throat down the hallway. _Tina_.

He releases Sebastian’s lips, breathing hard, a desire pulling at him he recognizes from last night; it settles tight in his stomach and makes his toes curl.

“Come in,” he says, pulling at Sebastian’s hand. “I’ll give you the tour.”

Of course _the tour_ doesn’t take that long at all. Mike’s father had money, but he’d never accepted much of that money outside his college tuition. Both Mike and Tina worked jobs to pay for life in the city and the rent they split three ways. So there’s the living room with adjacent kitchen, a bathroom that despite everything is pretty big for an apartment this size, and Mike and Tina’s bedroom.

“And this is my room,” he concludes as he closes the door behind him. It’s not really his room, it’s Matt’s room, but he wants a private moment alone with Sebastian where Mike or Tina can’t spy on them. He reaches both hands around Sebastian’s wrists, lacing their fingers together palm to palm.

“Do you think we can be quiet?” he whispers, wondering if they would get away with some fooling around on the bed. He’d gone out earlier today and bought a box of condoms, in case they decided to come back here later. He’d been scared out of his mind that he’d run into someone he knew, a friend from school or a teacher, but he’d felt strangely excited too. In the end it turned out there was very little to worry about, the cashier swooped the box past the scanner and he paid, and that was that.

He raises himself on his toes, reaching for Sebastian’s lips.

Sebastian pulls back. “This isn’t working for me anymore,” he says, his voice lacking conviction.

He chuckles. “Yeah, me neither,” he teases back and presses a kiss to Sebastian’s lips.

Sebastian doesn’t reciprocate, his body goes tense and he takes a deep breath. He pulls back and looks at Sebastian, ready to flirt his way through whatever silly game Sebastian is playing, but when he meets Sebastian’s eyes he can tell he’s not joking.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and for the first time he fears Sebastian’s answer.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” Sebastian answers solemnly, avoiding his eyes. “I’m completely fucked up.”

He doesn’t want to let it, but panic shoots through his entire body. He’s not sure what this is. “Sebastian, you’re—” He pulls back his hands. “You’re not being funny.”

Sebastian draws in another deep breath. “I’m not trying to be,” he says, takes a few steps back. His lips move, but there’s no sound at first, until he turns his back on him. “I thought I was in love with you,” Sebastian continues. “But it was just a lie. I wanted it to work, but I don’t feel anything. I wanted to know what you were like in bed.”

Every word is an ice-cold stab to his heart, an avalanche hitting every doubt and insecurity along the way. Why is Sebastian doing this? They’re—they’re in love. He knows that. Sebastian knows that.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, locked in place right where he stands. He can’t feel his own body, only his heart, beating faster and faster, caving in at the center of him.

“You don’t know me, Blaine,” Sebastian pokes at his biggest insecurity. He’s right, he doesn’t know anything about Sebastian because he didn’t like talking about himself. But he has wondered about so many things, Sebastian’s family, his past... _his past lovers_. But he was different, they were different, he wasn’t just another guy in a long string of conquests before him.

“You know nothing,” Sebastian adds, turns around and faces him again, visibly shaking. “You’re a scared little boy who played—who played hard to get.” Sebastian swallows hard, eyes filling up with tears.

He can’t take his eyes off Sebastian, his breathing stunted.

“Truth is there is someone I love,” Sebastian says. “You don’t even compare to him.”

“I don’t believe you,” he speaks through gritted teeth, holding back tears, shaking too, body queasy with hurt.

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer to you.” Sebastian looks him straight in the eyes. “You mean _nothing_ to me,” he insists while tears roll down his cheeks. “You were just—just a conquest.”

“How can you even _say that to me_?!” he asks, heart jackhammering in his chest, his stomach knotting like someone punched him in the gut.

Sebastian can’t be serious, he can’t mean this, he’s shaking where he stands right there in front of him, tears streaming down his face. He knows what it’s like to cry silent tears, to be powerless against your own grief, it’s when you can’t stop because it’s too much to handle. Why is Sebastian cutting him down like this? What happened between this morning and now to cause this? Who talked all this nonsense into his head?

The sight of Sebastian breaks his heart.

“You’re a coward,” he spits, his anger getting the best of him. “Look at yourself, you’re shaking!”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian breathes. “I’m completely...”

“Yeah, you’re completely fucked up!” he shouts, heartbreak hitting him hard, tears escaping his eyes and a crushing weight down on his chest. Sebastian was right about so many things, he’s a hypocrite in so many ways, but for good reason. He didn’t see love standing right in front of him because he didn’t want to get hurt.

“You knew this was important to me,” he says breathlessly.

“What, your virginity?” Sebastian asks, takes a deep breath. “Not really an issue anymore.”

The indifference is what does it, the clear calm in Sebastian’s voice despite the tears that stream down his face, the insignificance Sebastian chooses to treat his virginity with, that perfect moment of intimacy they shared, that _loving_ moment. Shelby had been wrong about Sebastian, but Sebastian’s doing everything in his power to prove her right.

And he lets him.

“Get out,” he chokes out. He can’t stand to look at Sebastian anymore, can’t stand the memories the sight of him brings back, the thought of what his hands did to him last night, such amazing things. All destroyed now. _And why?_

Sebastian takes a step closer and reaches out a hand, and he wants to take it, he wants Sebastian to break down alongside him and tell him that someone made him do this, that this is his biggest insecurity getting to best of him again like that night Sebastian rejected him. Maybe it was all a mistake, maybe Sebastian just needed to see his own worth.

But he can’t, even though Sebastian looks as heartbroken as he feels, he can’t let Sebastian get away with this. There are other ways to deal with insecurities.

He won’t stand for this.

“Don’t—” He bats at Sebastian’s hand, but Sebastian reaches around one of his wrists. “Don’t touch me!” He tries to pull free but Sebastian grabs an even tighter hold. “Don’t fucking touch me, Sebastian!”

He pulls one last time, his other hand thrusting out on autopilot. He pushes at Sebastian’s shoulder and Sebastian loses his balance, staggering a step back before tripping and falling to the ground.

The fall eviscerates any sound in the room, safe for Sebastian’s labored breathing. Sebastian looks utterly broken, lost, everything he’s feeling and more, and he doesn’t get it. Why would Sebastian do this to them?

“I’m s—” Sebastian breathes, but the word doesn’t quite make it out.

He draws in a shaky breath. “Just leave.”

Sebastian staggers up from the ground with some difficulty, struggling to find his balance again once he’s standing. He looks at Sebastian, but Sebastian doesn’t look at him—he balls his hands into fists, fingernails digging into the palms of his hands, but he refuses to break down in front of him. Sebastian lingers for another few seconds, breathing in short stunted breaths, but leaves the room eventually.

He holds his breath, listens, until he hears the front door closing. And then it explodes inside him. He reaches a hand back for the bed, but his knees give out sooner than he thought and he tumbles to the ground, landing on his hip hard. A crushing weight presses down on his chest and he has trouble breathing, choking on his sobs, tears running down his face.

“Blaine?” Tina’s voice, a knock on the door.

He buries his face in his hands and cries out, lets it all go, pulls his knees up to his chest and tries to make himself as small as possible, hoping the ground will open up beneath him and swallow him whole—it would be a mercy.

 

.

 

**35**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE _–_ HUNTER’S BEDROOM _–_ day**

 

He struggles the entire car drive home, lines of tears running down his cheeks beyond his control, his heart working overtime, something sitting heavy on his chest making it hard for him to breathe. He tries to breathe around it, through it, but it’s nestled itself cozily around his heart, pulling him down.

He runs a hand over his face, wiping at his tears, but it’s no use: they keep falling. He’s a despicable human being, he just devastated one of the kindest people he’s ever met, someone who’d given him the benefit of the doubt and saw something in him worth loving. He’d devastated himself.

But Hunter was right. He’s not cut out for love.

Only why does it hurt so much?

“Mr Smythe,” the doorman addresses him once he’s managed to stumble out of his car and into the lobby. “A letter was delivered for your brother.” The doorman hands him a letter, Hunter’s name scribbled on it in handwriting he recognizes immediately: Jesse’s. “The gentleman was adamant that Mr Clarington read it.”

He swallows hard. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, legs shaky and weak, but he somehow makes it into the elevator. He turns the letter over in his hands a few times, but he’s fairly certain what it’ll say; he puts it in his back pocket, making a mental note to be in the room with Hunter when he reads it.

Hunter appears to be out, which is most unfortunate, because he’d really hoped to talk to his brother. He needs something to do to get his mind off things, to erase the image of Blaine standing in front of him, shaking, crying, breaking down.

A fresh wave of tears rolls down his cheeks and he lets it. It’s the least he deserves after what he did.

He doesn’t know how the words made it past his lips, how he found the exact right words to strike at Blaine’s heart, his own heart, because this side shouldn’t come so easily as well—he knew how to build someone up, make them feel better about themselves, but he’s never left someone broken. Not this directly. Not while leaving his own heart in pieces too.

Maybe he was wrong.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe Blaine was that boy of his dreams, the right boy, someone he could change for, in time.

But there’s no point in dwelling on the past.

He looks out his bedroom window and sees Hunter arrive in the town car. He sneaks into his office and unearths a bottle of champagne he’d bought right after he made his bet with Hunter—he’d planned on drinking it with Hunter after winning the bet. It’s a mild comfort, but he did win the bet and a deal’s a deal.

He makes his way inside Hunter’s bedroom, the closed curtains bathing the room in darkness; he doesn’t turn on the lights, but sits down in a chair in the corner of the room, waiting.

Hunter enters the room minutes later, unaware of him, opens the curtains, and almost visibly startles once he turns around. “Jesus,” Hunter says. “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“I thought you’d want to know what happened with Blaine,” he cuts right to the chase. “It’s over.”

“Really.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I can’t change.”

And this way no one will have to know, Blaine can lie about his virginity and he won’t be there to contradict him—he plans to make sure Hunter keeps his mouth shut too.

“You and I are two of a kind,” he adds, and holds up the bottle of champagne. “I thought we should celebrate.”

“I’d love to,” Hunter says. “But unfortunately I’m expecting some company.”

“Let me guess.” He manages a small smile. This is one thing he won’t allow Hunter, not after everything; he’d already forced his own brother on an innocent girl, though the semantics of that could be argued, but he won’t let him destroy Rachel any further.  “Jesse?”

Jesse seemed like such a strange choice for his brother, not only was he a public figure and well within his father’s reach, Jesse didn’t seem Hunter’s type.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Hunter says. “But yes.”

He pulls the letter from his back pocket. “From Jesse,” he clarifies. He gets up from his chair and throws the letter on the dresser, where two champagne glasses are set up next to each other. “I haven’t had the chance to read it, but I’m pretty sure it goes something like _‘yahdah yahdah yahdah, it was all a mistake. I hope we can still be friends etc... etc..._ ’”

He uncorks the bottle and fills the two glasses, acutely aware that Hunter’s eyes are burning holes in the back of his head.

“I suspected that after everything you’d already put Rachel through you’d never let her keep Jesse,” he says, turns around. “So I took the liberty of arranging a little get together for them.”

He feels a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, the satisfaction of blindsiding Hunter this one time only a temporary patch for the pain inching across his chest.

“You were right,” he adds, walks over to Hunter with both their drinks in hand. “You do get passed up for people who try less hard than you.”

Hunter’s jaw clenches, but somehow he contains his anger. “Well played.”

“Thank you.” He hands Hunter his drink and holds up his glass. “Now, what shall we toast to?”

A proud smile crosses Hunter’s lips; it unsettles him instantly. “To my triumph.”

He grits his teeth together to control himself, tries to keep himself breathing, but it’s getting harder by the second. He doesn’t want to be reminded of Blaine. “It’s your call,” he says, clinking their glasses together. “To your triumph over Blaine.” He swallows the glass back in one gulp, not nearly enough to chase away the memories, Blaine growing smaller and smaller in front of him.

And Hunter laughs, that low mocking laugh he recognizes all too well. He’s never been at the receiving end of it. He knows what’s coming, Hunter will tear Blaine down all over again, he’ll drive home how they’re two of a kind and shouldn’t try to love, because it can only lead to heartbreak. 

“Silly boy.” Hunter smiles. “My triumph isn’t over him. It’s over you.”

If at all still possible, his heart drops. “Excuse me?”

What is Hunter talking about? He’s not—

“You were very much in love with him,” Hunter says, his eyes alight with satisfaction. “You’re still in love with him.”

No.

He thought that after everything that happened Hunter might offer some words of wisdom, some trick to make this pain go away and avoid getting hurt in the future. But that’s not what Hunter’s saying, he’s _mocking_ him. Only, no, it’s not mocking either, he’s doing a complete 180 on what he said hours before—he thought Hunter wanted to spare him heartbreak.

But in truth he wanted to hurt him.

Hunter wanted him to hurt himself.

“But it amused me to make you ashamed of it,” Hunter says, backing up towards the settee in front of the window. Hunter sits down, crosses his legs, rolling the glass of champagne between his fingers. “You gave up on the first person you’ve ever loved because I threatened your reputation.”

What has he done?

He trusted Hunter, trusted his brother to know him better than he knows himself and Hunter does, he just never thought Hunter would abuse that knowledge like this. Hunter knew exactly what to say to get him to listen, to make him doubt himself and like always he took that to heart. And he took it too far.

“Don’t you get it?” Hunter asks, eyes darkening. “You’re just a toy, Sebastian. A little toy I like to play with.”

He broke Blaine’s heart in the hopes it would keep Blaine away.

Hunter knew that.

“And now you’ve completely blown it with Blaine.”

_What has he done?_

Hunter takes a sip from his champagne, _to his triumph_. “I think it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

That’s when he sees it in Hunter’s eyes, how he’s not just angry at the Brody Westons or Rachel Berrys for their talent and the opportunities afforded them, but the Blaine Andersons and the Quinn Fabrays, the Santanas and at the end of the day, even his own brother. Hunter’s at war with the entire world for forcing him to be one way and he’s been acting out since he’s been old enough to understand the meaning of all the injustice laid down at his feet.

It’s taken him far too long to see it.

Hunter’s nothing like him.

Hunter thinks himself better than him.

He stumbles a step closer. “I still won the bet,” he says, grasping at straws now, anything to make sense of this revenge plot his brother’s set up against him. What had he ever done to Hunter besides take life the way it threw itself at him? He took life the way it came, messy and disorganized and even after all his fuck ups he’d been granted someone as wonderful as Blaine. _Destroyed now_.

“Yeah.” Hunter sighs, clamoring up from the couch. “Unfortunately I don’t fuck losers.”

He stills and narrows his eyes on Hunter, anger taking over. “We had a deal.”

Hunter’s expression is completely humorless. “You have my answer.”

“This is war, Hunter,” he says, pointing a finger.

“Then war it is.”

 

.

 

Adrenaline courses through his veins as he watches Sebastian stagger a few steps back, eyes fixed on him, before he turns around and leaves the room. He smiles to himself, takes another sip from his champagne and contemplates all his options. If it’s war Sebastian wants, well, he knows how to play this game. He grabs his cell phone and dials a number he’d been sure to steal from Rachel’s phone. The line dials five times before he finally gets an answer.

“Hello?” the boy’s voice sounds weak.

“Blaine?” he says. “It’s Hunter Clarington.”

“If this is about Sebastian—” Blaine starts, and it’s clear that he’s been crying, his voice thick with pain.

“It’s about your sister, actually.”

There’s a sniffle and a beat over the line, Blaine processing the information. “Rachel?” he asks.

Hunter smiles, but tries his best to sound sympathetic. “Something happened with her and Sebastian that I don’t think I can tell her mother. Now I know you and Sebastian are friends, but—”

“But what?” Blaine asks, sounding eager to hear what happened.

“They had sex, Blaine,” he says. “I warned her about him so many times, but I can’t protect her 24/7.”

He pauses for effect, but the line has already gone dead silent. “Blaine?” he asks. “Are you there?”

But when Blaine doesn’t answer he knows his first move was successful, however aggressive it might be. This will be more fun than any bet or little game he’s played before, he’ll enjoy destroying his brother and he knows there won’t be anyone to come to Sebastian’s aid. Their parents will be home tomorrow, but Sebastian’s mother will shop until she drops before batting an eye for her son, and his father has never cared about his stepson.

Sebastian will be all alone, no one to turn to, safe maybe that Santana girl, but he doesn’t think she cares much for Sebastian’s sentimental side. No, he was going to lose Sebastian to college anyway and he knows his brother well enough to know he wouldn’t be back if he could help it. This was their final game, their last dance.

And he’s going to win. 


	10. The Journal

**36**

**INT. COHEN-CHANG APARTMENT – day**

 

“ _They had sex, Blaine_ ,” Hunter says and it’s like someone dialled up the gravity. He feels himself pull down, a crushing weight now not only on his chest but his shoulders too, his hand falls away from his ear, phone drops to the ground, landing on the carpeted floor in a dull thud. 

 _No_ , it’s not true, he thinks, Rachel hardly knows Sebastian. They’d met that one time a few days ago during lunch—wait, Sebastian had said they’d been introduced, and then Rachel stormed off. He thought that was Rachel being Rachel, he’d seen her storm off often enough to know it’s a thing she’d perfected even in the most ridiculous situations. Had there been a reason? Had Sebastian been that reason?

 _No_. It can’t be true, Rachel wouldn’t do that to him, and after everything he doesn’t think _Sebastian_ would do that to him. Rachel was interested in Jesse, not Sebastian.

But what reason could Hunter have to call him about it? Was it a bluff? Was it a lie?

It just—it can’t be true.

There’s only one way to be sure and that’s to ask Rachel. He’d called her an hour after Sebastian broke up with him, finally able to dial the phone without tears blurring his vision, but he’d still choked and sputtered and somewhere in there Rachel must’ve understood what had happened because she was there ten minutes later, hugging him tight, telling him everything would be alright.

He’d cried on her shoulder for hours, told her everything that had happened between him and Sebastian, how they’d met, how Sebastian had pursued him relentlessly but that ended up becoming something real. So he’d believed, anyway. Rachel hadn’t said a word, she’d held him and hummed her understanding every now and then. She’d been there for him because he needed her.

But what did all of that mean if she had sex with Sebastian? He knows it must’ve been her first time, she would’ve told him otherwise, but how had Sebastian managed to keep this from him? How had he found the time to pursue him and Rachel at the same time, while Rachel had been so busy? Why had he—he chokes on his own thoughts.

What if Sebastian had meant every word he said? What if he was another sexual conquest after all? What if he was that good a liar?

Maybe Hunter was lying, maybe it was some kind of sick joke he’d set up with Sebastian. But would Hunter do that to someone he didn’t even know?

Only one way to find out.

He makes his way into the kitchen, legs shaking, his body sick with nerves and heartbreak.

Rachel’s in the kitchen with Tina, making them all some tea.

“Blaine, I was just—” Rachel starts when she takes notice of him. He guesses something in his eyes must stop her short, because she frowns at him, a hint of concern touching her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you sleep with Sebastian?” he asks, the only way he knows how, direct, catching Rachel by surprise so she doesn’t have time to consider her answer. He reads Rachel as well as she reads him.

And Rachel’s face betrays her, the concern makes way for panic, panic for fear, fear for the realization that she held him for hours while he cried over Sebastian while she knew what she’d done. He knows she didn’t tell him to spare his already shattered heart, but finding out like this hurts more, figuring out the blatant lie she put between them.

A lie that makes everything clear: Sebastian never cared at all.

This time gravity plays a far crueler trick on him. He hears Rachel shout “Blaine, wait!” before he’s stumbling backwards towards the bathroom, bile making its way up his throat—he barely makes it inside and he’s throwing up.

 _Nothing_. He meant nothing to Sebastian. It was all a trick, every word a lie, every smile an act, all—he breathes hard, his stomach turning, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. He gave up his virginity, he broke his mother’s vow all because he thought he was in love. 

“Blaine,” Rachel’s voice sounds from the hallway and he throws himself back against the door; he doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to talk to her, he doesn’t even want to hear her.

“Blaine, please,” Rachel begs. “Let me in.”

The door handle moves up and down. He locks the door.

Not this, Sebastian doesn’t get to take this too, not his bond with Rachel.

He hears Rachel slide down the length of the door, sitting down on the other side. “Blaine, I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know—”

And he knows, he knows Rachel had no idea what was going on in his life, they kept missing each other and even when he had seen her a few days ago he’d been reluctant to tell her about Sebastian. Because he wanted to keep Sebastian to himself, a secret. Maybe Sebastian had counted on that.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Rachel says. He can’t make sense of this. Somehow it made sense before, up until Hunter’s phone call Sebastian’s fear had come between them, but now it’s so much more: Rachel and Hunter and so many lies. _How_ many lies? Sebastian had made him fall in love with him, seduced his sister at the same time, and for what?

“No, I mean, it did,” Rachel amends, “but there were no feelings involved. I needed t—”

He draws in a breath and holds it, waiting for Rachel to continue. For some reason he gets the feeling there’s more to this story than Hunter let on.

“I needed him to teach me to be sexy.”

The sound in Rachel’s voice is unmistakable, it’s how she sounds when she knows she’s hurt someone, disappointed someone she cares about. It’s how she sounds when she disappoints herself.

No, none of it makes sense, he decides, he might not know Sebastian completely but he’d seen enough to know what was real and what wasn’t and he’d found something real. Sebastian had found something real with him.

But it had to have been more than just fear that had driven Sebastian to break up with him.

“When?” he asks, his throat burning.

“What?” Rachel asks.

“ _When_?” he calls a little louder.

“The—” Rachel hesitates. He puts his cheek against the cold surface of the door, listening intently. He fears the answer. “The day I came over for lunch?” Rachel says, voice betraying her insecurity. “I didn’t go home. I went to his room before dinner.”

He hears Rachel sniffle, and then she starts crying.

His eyes fill up with tears—Sebastian slept with Rachel after their first kiss, after he’d yelled at Sebastian about not trusting himself with him. Had Sebastian acted out? Had he set out to find distraction the only way he knew how?

But judging from what Rachel tells him she’d gone to Sebastian willingly. Why?

“I’m sorry,” Rachel says.

He doesn’t answer, his whole world still feels like it’s crumbling at the edges and it stopped being governed by any rules he understood. He’s caught in the same loop of self-doubt he was in before meeting Sebastian, mind unable to reach around all his options, incapable of settling on a road to take.

He suddenly wishes he hadn’t written that manifesto, hadn’t gone to his aunt for the summer.

He wishes he’d never met Sebastian at all.

Because even after all this, he thinks he’s still in love with Sebastian.

 

.

 

He’d spent three hours pacing his room before hopping in his car.

It’s been a day and he can’t stand this, the thought of Blaine hating him, the thought that Blaine believed everything he said about him. What does it say about his own self-worth that he’d reached back to his reputation? That he validated Shelby’s opinion of him because he knew it would make Blaine listen, push him away, cause the damage he needed to get Blaine to hear him.

What has he done? How could he have been so blind to Hunter’s hatred for so long? He thinks for a long time, too long, he’s looked up to Hunter for having his life together, for knowing exactly what he wanted from the future—he admired Hunter’s strength and tenacity, his lack of weakness. God, he was such an idiot.

He’d tried calling Blaine dozens of times, but either Blaine keeps ignoring his calls or he turned off his cell phone because he hasn’t been able to get through at all. He’d gotten Mike and Tina’s phone numbers from Quinn, but after begging both of them to let him talk to Blaine they started ignoring his calls too.

So there was only one solution: face his problem head on. He’ll go see Blaine, he has to make him see what a huge mistake he made, what Hunter made him do, what he was sparing him, the fear he felt thinking about all the future scenarios for them. But he hadn’t meant it, Blaine hadn’t been another conquest, he was the end of the line for him, the only boy he can still think about. Even if Blaine rejects him, even if he never gets to see him again, he needs Blaine to know that.

But he’d messed up so bad. Why would Blaine even listen to him?

It takes him only twenty minutes to weave through traffic and arrive at Mike and Tina’s apartment, the drive only getting him more anxious with every minute that went by. There’s still a distinct ache in his chest where Blaine’s love is missing and it’s slowly starting to drive him crazy. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t talked to anyone but Quinn, hasn’t thought about anything else but Hunter’s speech and how badly he needs Blaine back in his life.

He approaches the door, a lump rising in his throat, legs heavy, but he doesn’t hesitate to ring the doorbell. He came here with a purpose, and he’ll see it through all the way.

The door swings open a few moments later, revealing the last person he expected to see. “Rachel,” he says, somehow manages to keep the surprise from his voice. Would she really be here comforting Blaine, knowing what they did? Had she told Blaine?

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Rachel says, her big brown eyes undecipherable.

“Rachel—” he starts, but she cuts him short by taking a step closer.

“Why did you break up with him, Sebastian?” she asks, voice lowered. He’s shocked at the proximity she takes, because she has even more right to hate him right now. Maybe he’d underestimated her again, maybe Rachel had realized their time together had nothing to do with feelings. “I know there’s more to you than this.”

He casts down his eyes; Rachel gives him more credit than he deserves. He feels only half the man he used to be, growing ever smaller the longer he goes thinking Blaine hates him.

“I really need to see him,” he says. “I fucked up.” He looks down at Rachel. “With you. With him. Everything—” He swallows hard. He came here to apologize to Blaine, he’s not prepared for this. “Just, please, can you tell him I’m here?”

“He knows,” Blaine’s voice sounds and he enters his field of vision seconds later.

Seeing Blaine again brings it all back, the pain and heartache but also the kisses and the cuddling, the loving whispers in his ear, the ‘I love you’ and the trust Blaine had extended him. Blaine looks how he feels, like he hasn’t slept at all, like he’s been crying for hours, hurt to the bone. And it was all his fault.

“I told you to leave,” Blaine says.

“I made a mistake, Blaine.” He takes a step closer, stops himself from reaching out even though he really wants to. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

For half a second he thinks he detects a hint of hesitation in Blaine’s eyes, like somehow his words have touched a place where Blaine’s willing to listen to him. But it disappears as fast as it came.

“Hunter told me what you did to Rachel.”

His eyes flicker towards Rachel, but she keeps her eyes cast down. This is worse than Rachel telling Blaine, this is Hunter starting a war in the worst possible way. Hunter will pay for this.

He takes another step towards Blaine. “You can’t believe a word he told you.”

“But it’s true,” Blaine whispers, voice broken. “You slept with her while you—” Blaine swallows hard, tears in his eyes and it rips him open all over again. He stares down at Blaine, so close, but the distance between them has never been greater—there’s a pull inside his chest, like someone tightening a fist around his heart.

He could make excuses, how Blaine was the one insisting they’d stay friends, that Blaine never showed any interest until he kissed him back only to reject him right after, but how can he make them now?

He shakes his head, averts his eyes. “I have no excuses.”

“She's my sister, Sebastian.”

His eyes shoot up and meet Blaine’s. “ _Your sister_?” he asks, the word losing its meaning. “Shelby—”

And suddenly it’s all clear, why Shelby was the one to warn Blaine about him, why she’d cared enough to, why she wanted to protect Blaine from him, how Rachel and Blaine became friends and why she’d come over for lunch, why they were texting each other after Blaine spent the night with him... _they were siblings_. And Hunter—had he known?

“Is my stepmother,” Blaine fills in. “And she warned me about you. God, did she warn me.” Blaine turns more angry than sad, cuts him down. “And she was right. Everything she told me about your past, about all the guys and the girls, it was true.”

There’s no point in arguing what Shelby said, his past stands and there’s nothing he can change about it. Maybe at the end of the day the problem is that Blaine doesn’t know him at all, but Blaine saw the most important part of him, a part he never even knew was there. He needs Blaine to know that.

“None of them were you, Blaine,” he says, wishes he could talk to Blaine in private, without Rachel watching, without Mike and Tina watching from the other end of the hallway. There has to be a way to make Blaine see. “You're the first guy I've ever had these types of feelings for,” he confesses, some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. “You have to believe me.”

Blaine holds his gaze for several moments, and he knows: he’ll remain a ghost of himself unless Blaine decides to hear him out. He needs one person to know this isn’t all there is with him, more than anything he needs Blaine to realize it the way Rachel seemingly has. He wonders how Rachel’s the one who sees him differently.

But Blaine blinks and crosses his arms over his chest, avoiding his eyes. “Please leave, Sebastian.” 

“Blaine, please, just let me explain,” he begs and reaches up a hand without thinking—only Blaine flinches the moment he moves and he thinks the better of it. He can’t stand to think about how he hurt Blaine but seeing him hurt by his presence alone is a cruel thing to subject himself to. There has to be a way to make Blaine see.

He turns, figuring there has to be another way to reach Blaine. He looks at Rachel, her eyes apologizing for something that’s not her fault. It’s all on him, all of it, the pain and misery he causes people. Hunter didn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to do.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Rachel and her lips quirk in acknowledgement. He leaves the apartment, the door closing behind him.

“ _Blaine_ ,” he hears Rachel call, before the sound of footsteps sounds down the hallway, and another door closes.

 

.

 

**37**

**INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE** **– evening**

 

He never thought defeat could weigh so heavy, could reach inside him and mess him up so much, but he knows that’s because he never let it get him down like this before. Right now he’s lost, he has no idea what’s left for him to do except give up. No matter what he does his broken heart will be his companion for quite some time to come.

He can’t think of another thing to do, he’s tried everything but force Blaine to listen to him and he swore to himself he’d never force himself into Blaine’s life again. Maybe he’d done enough, maybe it was best to leave Blaine alone and only cherish the hope that he’d come to him should he ever be ready. It could take a long time, maybe Blaine would never come, but at least he wouldn’t be taking away his choice. No more than he already has.

The drive home doesn’t take so long this time, people and buildings passing by all slightly out of focus, even the doorman can’t earn so much as a nod today.

“Sebastian,” his stepfather calls as soon as he sets foot in the living room. He suspects his mother’s out shopping already, or maybe visiting one of her lovers.

“ _Dad_ ,” he sneers scathingly. “How was Bali?”

“How was therapy?” his stepfather retorts. It’s one of the longest conversations they’ve ever had.

“Over,” he answers. Before everything happened with Blaine he’d been prepared to make a speech to his parents about quitting therapy, about how there was nothing wrong with him for enjoying sex, but now that speech would only underline his shortcomings. Maybe if he’d understood, if he hadn’t been blind to his own feelings, none of this would’ve happened.

He thinks his stepfather stopped listening before he uttered his first syllable.

He sighs and heads for his room, almost running into Hunter exiting his office. Hunter’s the last person he wants to see; he’s tethering on the edge, ready to completely lose it and he’s not sure how that might manifest itself.

“Hello, brother.” Hunter smiles, he _smiles_ , and a white heat spreads in front of his eyes. “Back so soon?”

“Did you know?” he asks, jaw clenched in anger. “Did you know Rachel was Blaine’s sister?”

It’s no excuse, even if Rachel wasn’t Blaine’s sister they’re friends and knowing what he did still would’ve hurt Blaine. But if Hunter knew, if he knew who he was looking at the moment he showed Hunter that magazine then why didn’t he say anything, if not just for fun.

Hunter smirks. “Of course I knew, brother,” he says. “Unlike you I actually do my research.”

He lashes out without thinking, his hand balls into a fist and before he knows it his knuckles connect with Hunter’s face, socking him right in the eye. He catches Hunter by surprise because he falls to the ground, grabs for his face, and stares up at him.

“You son of a bitch.”

“Careful who you insult, brother,” Hunter says. He gets up from the ground, smooths a hand down his shirt. “I take it things didn’t go so well with Blaine.”

Defeat washes over him again, an invisible hand reaching around his throat, keeping him from breathing.

“I warned you, Sebastian.” Hunter takes a step closer, reaches over and thumbs at his collar. “I don’t lose,” he whispers.

He doesn’t move, his legs feel like lead and he struggles for air. Everything he and Hunter had is gone, and it’s Hunter’s fault. He never would’ve slept with Hunter because Blaine was far too important to him, but he knows that deep down Hunter enjoyed the control he had over him keeping that as an incentive. So it’s Hunter’s fault they’re at odds, Hunter’s the one who took his rejection too personally.

All he did was fall in love—and that was something he couldn’t control.

The realization that Hunter’s the one to blame doesn’t soothe his pain. At the end of the day he’d made his own choices, blindly maybe, but his nonetheless.

“And in my defense, I didn’t think you’d actually fall for the guy.”

All he did was fall in love. Hunter had been wrong, he was cut out for love, it’s just that his life isn’t. Not with his past wrapped around his ankles like an iron ball.

Maybe there was one more thing for him to do after all.

He leaves Hunter in the hallway without saying another word, satisfied that at the very least his face will bruise, and stumbles into his bedroom. He snatches his journal off the bed and walks over to his desk with only one purpose in mind: writing Blaine a letter.

His last resort.

 

.

 

**38**

**INT. COHEN-CHANG APARTMENT – day**

 

There’s a careful knock on the door he recognizes as Rachel’s immediately. He’d traded in Mike and Tina’s place for the warmth and comfort of home, but nothing eases his pain. Even here, a place Sebastian’s never touched, everything reminds him of Sebastian. It’s been only three days, and his time with Sebastian, albeit short, had been intense enough for the memories to have sunk into his skin, always there, constantly making him think about what happened and try to analyze that.

“Blaine?” Rachel calls, the door creaking open a few seconds later. He curls around the pillow in his arms tighter, unwilling to let the outside world touch this room. “Can we—please, Blaine, I can’t stand fighting with you.”

He sighs and turns on his back. Rachel looks small and frail, unlike he’s seen her in a long time and he hates how Sebastian’s done this to both of them. He’s not angry with Rachel, maybe a little disappointed, but he could never hate her. He doesn’t think he could ever hate anyone.

“We’re not fighting,” he says. He sits up and reaches out a hand.

Rachel hesitates for another few moments, but shuffles closer to the bed, takes his hand and crawls on top of the covers with him. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes again.

He nods, trying his best not to start crying again. Maybe it’s time for the truth. “I’m in love with him, Rachel,” he says, squeezing Rachel’s hand. It’s more truth than anything else: he’s in love with Sebastian and he thinks he might’ve been from the moment they met. Only something that had first felt confusing and had turned into something beautiful now only caused him pain.

“I gave him—” He shakes his head; he won’t cry over this again. He knows it hurts now because it had been perfect.

Rachel closes her other hand over their locked ones. “He’s in love with you too,” she says and for some reason it cuts down deeper than anything said the past three days. If Sebastian’s in love with him too, why would he let anyone come between them?

“Did you see him?” Rachel asks. “Blaine, he’s lost without you.”

He shakes his head again, Rachel saying things he wants to hear from Sebastian, but he hadn’t given Sebastian the chance. Sebastian had looked wrecked, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes. But if Sebastian broke his heart for no reason, without hesitation, then what’s the point? Relationships take work, and he can’t have Sebastian running scared every turn they take. He wants everything with Sebastian.

Everything.

“He said I was just a conquest,” he says, eyes downcast. “Like it didn’t—mean anything.”

“But it did,” Rachel says.

He wonders what it meant to Rachel, to lose her virginity to Sebastian. But he’s not sure he’s ready to hear that.

“Blaine, look at me,” Rachel insists.

He looks up at Rachel, unprepared for anything she’ll say.

“You know it meant something,” Rachel says.

Of course it meant something, it was his first time with a boy he loved, the intimacy and their connection was deeper than anything he’d ever experienced and it wouldn’t have been so intense if Sebastian hadn’t felt it too. It had meant something to them both.

“I think—I do,” he stutters, turning in on himself again. He can’t think about this without feeling it, the good and the bad all at once and it’s too much, it’s overwhelming, Sebastian’s smile plaguing his memory, the touch of his fingertips down his skin, the way his eyes had been alight with something new.

He lies down, his head in Rachel’s lap. She starts drawing her fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, the sensation soothing and for the briefest of moments he can forget, about Sebastian, about Hunter, about Rachel and Sebastian sleeping together, about losing his virginity. For one single moment he can forget about the entire summer.

It’s Rachel’s voice that pulls him back. “You said Hunter told you.”

He turns his head and looks up at her. “He called me,” he says. “Why?”

Rachel bites her lip. “He’s the one who suggested I—” her voice trails off and she looks so vulnerable his heart would’ve broken if it weren’t already. Quinn had told him not to believe everything people said about Sebastian, but that applied to Hunter too. Maybe Hunter was the true villain of the story. What had he done to Rachel? What had he put in Sebastian’s head?

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Rachel recovers. “The point is that I was wrong and stupid and immature and probably not for the last time lost in my ambition. If I’d known—”

He scrambles up from Rachel’s lap. It’s not all Rachel’s fault. He might not like being alone, but whenever he’s struggling he shuts people out. He ran away to his aunt’s house for the summer so his father would stop hounding him about colleges and somehow he’d lost touch with Rachel too. Maybe if he’d reached out to her more often they could’ve been spared all this.

“For you to know I would’ve had to tell you, and—” _Sebastian turned his world upside down_. “I was confused. Things were fine with Kurt, but then there was Sebastian and everything just—”

Rachel smiles. “Turned upside down?”

He takes a deep breath, remembering happier times. “Is that how you feel about Jesse?” he asks.

Rachel nods and they share a smile, a painful truth rising. How could they both have found the boy of their dreams and so completely lost touch with each other? Rachel’s his girl, the person he shares all his secrets with and now they’re both hurting because he stopped doing that. All because he wanted to keep Sebastian to himself.

If only he’d told Rachel everything from the start.

Sebastian had seemed surprised to find out Rachel was his sister, the panic in his eyes had been unmistakable. But then how had his eye fallen on Rachel if he didn’t know? Is that where Hunter came in? Had he somehow pushed Rachel and Sebastian together?

“Sebastian didn’t—” he starts. He wants to know everything that happened and he never wants to know at the same time, the truth too painful, the past too present. He didn’t want Sebastian’s past to matter, but now he’s lost the ability to ignore it.

Rachel shakes her head. “He didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to,” she answers. “He made me feel—kind of special.” Rachel hesitates, but he suspects she’s ready to tell him her secrets as well. “I’m sorry, Blaine. I’m so sorry.”

He reaches an arm around Rachel and pulls her closer, her arms winding around his chest. The world has turned upside down, everything he thought was true has been upturned and it’s become this mess he can’t seem to dig his way out of.

There’s another knock at the door, and Shelby doesn’t wait to be invited in either. “Quinn dropped this off for you,” she says, and hands him a package, neatly wrapped in brown paper, held together by a string. There’s a letter locked underneath the string.

“Thanks.”

Shelby runs a hand through his hair; Rachel doesn’t budge in his arms. “Can I get you anything?” Shelby asks. “Some tea?”

He shakes his head. “We’re fine.”

“This pain won’t last, love,” Shelby says. He thought it for the best to lie to Shelby and tell her he broke up with Kurt, the truth too painful to face and the last thing he needs is Shelby preaching she was right about Sebastian all along. ”You’ll find the right boy when it’s time.”

He knows that by ‘time’ she really means a long long time from now.

Shelby leaves the room moments later. Rachel sits up and looks at the door, clearly still struggling with the fight she had with her mom about Jesse.

“You know she means well,” he says.

“My life isn’t hers,” Rachel answers. “And Jesse isn’t my dad.” She pulls at her sleeves and buries her hands in her sweater. “What’s this?” she asks, pointing at the package on the bed.

He’d already figured out the handwriting on the letter wasn’t Quinn’s.

His world keeps on spinning.

“It’s from Sebastian,” he says, the handwriting unmistakable. He already knew Quinn and Sebastian had met. Had Sebastian turned to Quinn as a last resort? Sebastian didn’t know a lot of his close friends, so had he reached out to one they had in common? Shelby never would’ve brought him the package if it had come from Sebastian. It’s curious how Sebastian hadn’t asked Hunter to deliver it.

“You’re not going to open it?” Rachel asks, not so subtly untying the string around the package already.

He pulls aside the letter and the string, the paper giving way easily. He pulls out a leather-bound journal, one he recognizes as Sebastian’s. Why would he send him this?

He takes hold of the letter, curious as to what it says, but he only stares down at it, his name looming on the off-white page. Does he want to know what’s inside this journal?

But Rachel seems to know his decision before he makes it; she draws a hand down his back and presses a kiss to his temple. “Courage,” she whispers in his ear, one of his own catchphrases, but it makes things clear for him. He wanted to know Sebastian, he wanted the truth about everything and here it is. Maybe this is what Sebastian came to tell him the other day.

Rachel leaves the room without making a sound.

He crosses his legs, the journal on the bed in front of him, the letter shaking between his fingers. He opens the envelope and pulls out the letter, unfolding it to read.

 

_Dear Blaine,_

_I don’t know what I can possibly say to fix the harm I have done. I know I hurt you, and for that I’m truly sorry. I’ve hurt a lot of people who came to mean something to me in a very short time, and took advice from people I thought I could trust._

_And now that it’s time to confess I’m at a loss for words. The truth is simple: being with you was the only time I’ve ever been happy. My whole life has been a joke, fun and games, taking joy in others’ misery and I’m not even sure why._

_It finally backfired. I managed to hurt the first person I’ve ever loved. I wish I could take it all back, maybe you wish you’d never met me, and I don’t blame you. But we can’t undo the past._

_So enclosed is my most prized possession... my journal. For a long time I considered it my trophy. A collection of my conquests. If you really want to know the truth, then please read it. No more lies._

_A car is picking me up in the morning and taking me to Martha’s Vineyard, where we have a summer home. Nothing would make me happier than if you joined me. I’m a wreck knowing you hate me. If you’re interested please meet me outside my building at nine._

_If not, I’ll understand._

_Love,_

_Sebastian._

 

Love. He wants to believe that so badly, but will he be able to love Sebastian after reading his journal? Will he be able to look at Sebastian the same way as before if he knows all the details of his past? _A collection of my conquests_. Does he really want to know about all the boys that came before him? All the girlsthat came before him?

He opens the journal with shaking hands, terrified of what he’ll read, terrified to find out Sebastian’s true intentions. But the letter suggests something different.

He reads for hours. Page after page of Sebastian’s tidy penmanship, outlining the life of a boy that was proud of who he was, confident about his sexuality, but never once accepted for that. There’s mention of boys, and girls, one night stands that hadn’t hurt anyone, sexual adventures in often strange places, but nothing more than something physical between two people who wanted it.

For some reason he can handle it, knowing it was never more than physical with other people, that Sebastian hadn’t been truly intimate with anyone but him. Maybe Sebastian had been telling the truth, maybe he never had feelings for anyone before until meeting him.

The more he reads, the more prominent Hunter becomes in the entries, slowly sneaking his way not only into Sebastian’s social life, but his extracurriculars as well—Sebastian seemed all too aware that Hunter used sexual incentives to get him to do things for him, seduce this girl for gossip, seduce that boy for fun, and Sebastian had been compliant because of the challenge.

He reads about manipulation and blackmail, Hunter’s coke problem and his past with a boy at military school Sebastian could only guess about because Hunter never talked about it, about absent parents but present conquests.

And then he reaches a page headed The Bet, his manifesto ripped out of the magazine and stuck between the pages. He already knew what it would say, that his manifesto was the reason Sebastian had come to him, that he was a challenge Sebastian was eager to take on. And after everything he’s read already he’s not surprised Hunter was involved in this too, that he’d suggested a sick bet and used his usual wiles on Sebastian.

Tears sting his eyes, but he can accept this, it’s not worse than anything he’s read, and the more he reads about himself the more he can see Sebastian changing, questioning himself and his motives, but more importantly, questioning Hunter.

It becomes clear that Sebastian started writing this journal because he had very few people in his life he trusted—and Hunter, the one person he had chosen to trust, stabbed him in the back. He thinks back to the phone call he got from Hunter, Hunter’s voice seemingly sympathetic, but it had all been a lie, he’s woven into this story more intricately than he or Rachel know; Hunter knew _everything_ , the bet, the way Sebastian started feeling for him. He’d manipulated Rachel into—

God, how did this happen?

And the more he thinks about it, the clearer it becomes. Hunter’s the villain of this story. It’s painful for him to read that even Hunter had his reasons, heartbroken, scared to be found out, that fear manifesting itself in these distasteful games.

He wonders if Hunter knew Rachel was his sister, if somehow he was hoping for this outcome, Sebastian heartbroken, him heartbroken. Rachel heartbroken.

And all this for revenge?

He tosses the journal aside and gets up, making his way to Rachel’s room. He pushes through the door without knocking.

Rachel blinks up at him. “Blaine?”

“Rachel,” he says. “I think it’s time you tell me everything about your time with Hunter.”

 

.

 

**39**

**INT. NYADA – day**

 

He doesn’t like his father being back; usually he stays gone for at least an entire month during the summer, but it had only been two weeks now and he has to be more careful. He has to make sure to close his doors when he’s making phone calls and pay extra attention to who he eyes in public. There was a time he wanted to come out, back when his entire world revolved around Dave and material things didn’t really matter—there was no material wealth at military school and all he had was Dave, their hot nights together, the odd day where they had the showers to themselves and spent their time exploring each other’s bodies there.

He was going to come out to his father, to his friends, to the entire world. He was in love, or so he thought, and little else mattered. But then his father decided to get remarried and brought him home to meet his stepmother and younger brother, and by the time he mustered up the courage to tell someone he’d found out Dave had moved on to another boy, a boy conveniently closer to him.

He’d spent weeks nursing a broken heart, long enough to notice his father’s disdain with Sebastian’s sexuality, making him realize his own father would never accept him. He gave Sebastian a modest allowance, more to appease his stepmother than anything else, but his father’s disapproval showed in everything: the way he avoided talking to Sebastian even when spoken to, the way he stopped caring when Sebastian stepped out of line. He couldn’t come out, he’d already lost Dave but he refused to lose his father’s respect.

So he’d turned to drugs—he liked the way it cleared headspace he’d otherwise use to worry about what people thought, he needed the time off it offered him every now and then. Sebastian always tells him he has a problem, but he has it under control. He started having meaningless flings, refusing to ever get hurt again.

He checks himself out in the mirror, his eye socket black and blue—normally he’d cover it up but the shiner would serve a purpose now. He exits the lavatory, makes his way back to the auditorium.

“Hunter,” he hears behind him. Jesse’s voice. Just the guy he was looking for. “What are you doing here?”

He turns and faces Jesse. “I came to talk to you.”

“Oh my God,” Jesse exclaims, raising both hands to his face and putting them on his cheeks, careful to only touch around the bruise. “What happened to you?”

“Sebastian,” he says. “I confronted him about Blaine and Rachel and he lost his mind.”

“Wait.” Jesse blinks, responding exactly the way he’d hoped. Jesse takes a step back, hands falling away from his face. “Rachel?”

“She didn’t tell you?” he asks and casts down his eyes. “God, Jesse, I shouldn’t—”

A hand on his shoulder stops him talking.

“Tell me,” Jesse insists.

He bites at his lip, but he has every intention of telling Jesse; it’s why he came here, after all. “He didn’t just seduce Blaine,” he says. “He got to Rachel too.”

Jesse’s face falls, taken aback by this new information. “No,” he says. “Rachel wouldn’t.”

He puts a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Don’t blame this on her,” he says. “My brother is a master manipulator. And Rachel’s a vulnerable girl.” He sighs and shakes his head, removing his hand from Jesse’s shoulder, even though he’d love to keep touching. Actually he’d love for a sequel to their previous make-out session.

“It’s my fault,” he adds for effect. “I failed her.”

“No.” Jesse puts his other hand on his cheek, forcing him to look up again. So naive, he catches himself thinking, good thing he’s pretty. “You’ve been here for both of us the entire time,” Jesse says. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He curls a hand around Jesse’s wrist. “Promise me you won’t confront him, Jesse. Sebastian’s dangerous.”

“Of course.” Jesse nods. “Whatever you say.”

Jesse pulls him closer and throws his arms around him; if it were anyone else he would’ve rolled his eyes or pushed him away. But he kind of likes Jesse, if not only for being so easily manipulated. If he’s as easy as Rachel then maybe it wouldn’t take much to get Jesse into his bed.

 

.

 

**40**

**EXT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – day**

 

_8.50 am._

He zips up his overnight bag, the driver already having picked up his two other bags, and finally tears his eyes away from the clock. He still didn’t catch any sleep last night, but tossed and turned, wondering if Blaine would show up, what would happen if he did, every fantasy scenario he could think of.

All but one. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Blaine doesn’t show up. Despite all his best intentions, to understand should Blaine decide he wants to keep his distance, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to cope. He doesn’t know how he’ll move on, what to do with this life. Get through the summer, he guesses, head to college, try to make a half-decent life for himself there.

It’s 8.55 by the time he enters the lobby.

And the lobby’s empty, no Blaine in sight.

He walks over to the door. “Did he show up?” he asks the doorman, having informed the man last night that Blaine might be joining him on his trip.

But the doorman shakes his head. “Sorry, son.”

Maybe Blaine’s running late, a tiny voice whispers in his ear, it’s not nine yet, Blaine still had five minutes to get here. He knows it’s a vain hope, one he hasn’t allowed himself very often because it can only lead to disappointment.

And that’s exactly what happens. He watches the minutes pass on his watch, tells his driver to can it three times and it’s close to 9.30 when he decides that Blaine’s decidedly not coming. He buries his face in his hands, exhaustion getting the best of him, his muscles hurting. Everything hurts.

He understands why Blaine stays away, if breaking his heart and sleeping with Rachel hadn’t done the trick his journal surely would have. But at least Blaine knew the truth now.

“Sir, are we leaving or not?”

He looks up at Craig, his driver, and he can see the man pitying him, only more proof of how these past few days have wrecked him. Proof of how much Blaine has changed him.

“No,” he answers.

He drops his bag at his feet, setting off down the street towards Blaine’s home. Quinn had told him he was back home with his parents, somewhere downtown and it’ll only take him about twenty minutes to reach on foot.

He needs Blaine in his life, and if he has to beg, if he has to go down on his knees and apologize over and over again to make him realize what both of them would be giving up then so be it. He’ll beg and he’ll apologize and it won’t be lowering himself—for once in his life he’ll do the brave thing. He’ll go see Blaine, even if he doesn’t make it through the door, even if Shelby or his father stops him, he’ll keep trying, he’ll shout until his voice gives out.

Blaine’s building has just appeared in his line of vision when he hears someone call his name behind him, voice barely reaching over the traffic noise in the one-way street.

He turns around. “Jesse?” he asks, watching Jesse make his way over to him. What now?

But before he can process what’s going on, Jesse’s fist connects with his face, hitting him square on the mouth. He feels his skin break, lips bleeding, blood in his mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he spits, trying to regain his balance.

“Hunter told me what you did to Rachel!” Jesse shouts.

“Hunter’s playing you, Jesse!” he shouts back, adrenaline making him more lucid, the information that Hunter’s the cause of this once again causing his anger to get the best of him. “He played all of us!” That’s how Hunter saw the world, it wasn’t merely fun and games but the world was his stage, the people his puppets, and Hunter was the puppet master. They were never equals.

“So you didn’t force yourself on Rachel.”

He breathes hard. “ _Force_ myself?” he calls out. “No!”

“You sick son of a bitch!” Jesse shouts, seemingly decided that he’s not going to put credence to anything he says. Jesse lashes out again; he ducks but loses his balance and falls to the ground, his head hitting the pavement hard. Before he knows what’s happened Jesse’s on top of him, one hand grabbing him around the collar, the other landing another punch, to his eye this time.

And he can’t fight back, Jesse comes at him too fast and too hard and he’s too tired to really defend himself; he just tries to raise his arms to protect his face.

“Jesse!” he hears someone shout, footsteps on the pavement. _Blaine_. “Jesse, stop!” Blaine shouts, and he thinks he must be pulling at Jesse’s arm because his punches stop. “It’s not his fault!”

But Jesse doesn’t listen, he’s blinded by his rage; he reaches back a hand and pushes at Blaine’s chest and now Blaine loses his balance—he spins, one of his feet landing wrong on the sidewalk and he falls down on the street.

“Blaine,” he says, watching Blaine lean up on his arms, sit up on his knees, shaking his head.

A car honks.

“No,” he breathes, and time stands still.

Everything slows down around him, but memories flash before his eyes at lightning speed: the first time he laid eyes on Blaine, the first time his stomach fluttered at seeing that beautiful smile break out across his face, that stupid ass face he made at him in the car. Blaine curled up naked in his arms, his fingertips tracing over his skin. The way Blaine’s eyes looked when he said he loved him.

He doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t need to think; he scrambles up from the pavement as fast as he possibly can and rushes towards Blaine. He pushes at Blaine’s back to get him away from the car—Blaine falls forward to the other side of the street, but for some reason his own legs stop working.

He’s standing in the middle of the street and suddenly Blaine’s eyes are wide in terror. “Sebastian!” Blaine screams, but it’s too late. He doesn’t even have time to turn his head to see what’s going on before the car’s bumper connects with his left leg.

The next thing he knows the world is screaming.

His ears ring, the light too bright, the ground too hard, head lolling back and forth on the pavement.

“Sebastian.”

 _Blaine’s voice_.

He feels a hand on his face and one in his hair but he’s overcome with pain, his head, his ribs, one of his legs, everything hurts.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Blaine screams.

He thinks there are other people crowding around them, cars screeching to a halt, but when he looks up all he sees is Blaine, right there with him.

“Sebastian,” Blaine says. “I’m here.”

He coughs, still tasting blood in his mouth. “I’m—s-sorry,” he chokes out.

“Don’t—” Blaine says, tears in his eyes. “Just stay with me.” Blaine cards his fingers through his hair like during their night together—sleep, sleep sounds good now. He feels the world slipping away, something at the corner of his eyes beckoning him to close them.

“Sebastian, please,” Blaine begs.

And he wants to say it, right there, he wants to look into Blaine’s eyes and confess his love, tell him everything, beg him, because what if he doesn’t get the chance again?

“I love—” he starts, but his eyes roll back in his head, the world spinning around him, blurred around the edges. It’s not how he wanted to say it, not how he wants this to end—he wants everything with Blaine.

“I know. Sebastian, I know.” Blaine cries. “I love you too.”

He hears sirens in the distance.

He closes his eyes.

“Sebastian,” Blaine croaks.

It’s the last thing he hears before he slips into blackout, and darkness takes hold of him.


	11. The End

The Jaguar really is one of the finer cars he’s ever driven. He was never really a car man, neither was Sebastian, he suspects, but when your father buys you a Jaguar Roadster you don’t complain. He knows how much Sebastian loved this car, and even though losing it might bear little significance now, he can’t help but gloat that he got his hands on it anyway. Hunter Clarington doesn’t lose.

He parks the car in front of the townhouse, the same place Sebastian always parked it.

Rachel’s car stands parked out front as well, and he can’t help but wonder why she’s here. Surely her brother’s broken heart still needed some nurturing.

“Carl.” He winks at the doorman. “Beautiful morning, don’t you agree?”

Carl scowls. “If you say so, sir.”

He smiles, not even Carl’s rude behavior able to destroy the mood he’s in—he won, he got what he wanted, and little else mattered right now. He had the place to himself, he was free to do what he wanted, and he was still quite determined to destroy Brody. Maybe it was time he got a little more direct about it. After all, if he could defeat Sebastian, Brody would cause few problems.

Rachel’s not in the living room, which is odd, because she knows better than to sneak into his office unattended. But that’s where he finds her.

“Rachel,” he says, walking in through the open doors. “What can I do for you?”

“I came to tell you I’ll no longer be needing your mentoring,” Rachel says.

He blinks in surprise. “Is that so?”

“Jesse will be doing that from now on.” Rachel smiles, taking a step closer. She puts her hands behind her back and for some reason he gets the feeling he won’t like what’s coming next. “Along with Brody.”

The name alone hits like lightning, but he controls himself. If it’s really Rachel’s intention to piss him off she’ll have to try harder than that. He guesses Blaine must have told her about the small part he had played, telling Blaine about what Sebastian had done to her— “You could’ve told me that over the phone,” he says, voice calm and steady.

“Blaine wanted to see the place again before leaving.”

He frowns. “Blaine?” he asks, hearing someone enter the room behind him. He turns around, face to face with the boy he helped destroy. But Blaine doesn’t look too distraught for someone who lost his heart to Sebastian. He knows what that kind of heartbreak should look like.

“I wanted to return something,” Blaine says, takes a step closer, and hands him a bound folder.

He flips it open to a random page, a photocopied page of someone’s—someone’s _journal_. “This is—” he starts, eyes shooting up. Rachel and Blaine are standing next to each other now, smiling at him. They’re _smiling_ at him.

“Sebastian’s journal,” Blaine says, a little too triumphant.

“Well, a copy,” Rachel corrects.

“He sent it to me the day before the accident.”

He stares down at the page, the words The Bet in huge block lettering on top, and he doesn’t have to ask what the rest of Sebastian’s handwriting outlines, what the other pages say. He knows most of Sebastian’s secrets but Sebastian knew his. He’d always wanted to get his hands on this journal, but not like this, not knowing Rachel and Blaine and God-knew-who-else had read it. Had Shelby seen this?

“Everything about you is in it,” Blaine continues.

No. It can’t be everything.

“The guy at military school who left you heartbroken.”

Tears sting behind his eyes.

“The boys you manipulated into your bed. The blowjobs. The hand jobs. Your affair with Cassandra.”

His blood runs cold.

“And then there’s the coke problem,” Rachel says, skipping over to his desk. “Let’s see.” She opens the top drawer, reaches inside, popping out the false bottom.

“Don’t touch that!” he sneers, feeling a tear run down his cheek.

“Everything okay in here?” he hears his father’s voice behind him and he stops breathing. Rachel’s hand is still positioned inside his desk drawer. He’s afraid that if he moves his life might shatter into a million pieces.

Rachel smiles wide. “We’re fine, Mr Clarington.”

“A fine job you’re doing with this young woman, Hunter,” his father says. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, soaking up his father’s praise while he still can. While he still feels slightly deserving. He opens his eyes to the sight of Rachel behind his desk, one hand undecided about his fate.

“Thanks, dad,” he says, and hears his father slowly back away.

This is too much, he hadn’t anticipated this—he took great joy in keeping Rachel and Blaine’s relationship hidden from Sebastian, the knowledge that his brother was still in the dark was almost laughable given the trouble he was taking getting to know Blaine, but he never could have guessed that bond would come and haunt him now. Blaine and Rachel are doing this to him _together_.

And deep down, in a place he never pays much attention to, he thinks he probably deserves this. 

“What _the fuck_ do you want?” he asks, breathing hard, a vicious bite to his tone he can’t hold back.

Blaine shakes his head. “You’re a real piece of work.”

“What do you care?” he asks. “Sebastian’s gone.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Before he knows it Blaine has lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar. “I’m not talking about Sebastian,” Blaine says, shaking with anger.

“Blaine—” Rachel warns.

But Blaine’s determined to have his say. “Did you really think you’d get away with this forever? That you’d put this all on Sebastian?” he asks. “You don’t get to walk away from this. One wrong move and this journal goes public.”

He smirks. If Blaine’s already losing his temper there’s little that can convince him this whole charade he’s playing with Rachel isn’t part of some elaborate bluff. Neither of them is like him or Sebastian. He brushes off Blaine’s hands. “Do you really think you have that in you?” he asks. “Or did Sebastian teach you that too?”

Blaine’s jaw clenches, but he composes himself. It’s almost admirable if it wasn’t some pithy way to regain control of the situation.

But then Blaine plays his final card.

“I don’t need to have it in me,” he says, his voice calm, composed, like the anger outburst was orchestrated as well. He knows better, that was Blaine breaking character, but for him to be this calm now he must have some ground to stand on. “You didn’t hurt me, Hunter. Despite everything I actually found something real.”

That’s right. The boy is in love.

“But there’s someone you pissed off a whole lot more and she’s a lot less forgiving than I am.”

And then he feels Rachel’s hand snake up his back, coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

“We’re going to be really good friends this school year, Hunter,” she says, looking at him sideways.

He feels himself locked in place again. If this journal goes public he’s done, all his lies and secrets exposed, his relationship with Karofsky, his games with Sebastian, the affair with Cassandra, what he did to Rachel.

His sexuality.

His coke habit.

His reputation will be destroyed.

He won’t let this happen, he can’t go back to military school or lose his father’s trust, can’t lose his _money_. But he can’t call Blaine’s bluff, he can’t threaten his reputation in turn because the silly boy’s in love and he knows what love does to a person—Blaine doesn’t care if his relationship with Sebastian is exposed.

“You’re going to do everything I tell you to do,” Rachel adds. “You’ll mentor the unpopular and insecure, male and female, make them feel like they’re worth something, built them up without even entertaining the notion of tearing them down.”

No, Blaine’s not the one who needs it in him. Rachel already does.

“And do you know why you’re going to do it?” Rachel asks, moving to stand in front of him. She raises herself on her toes, looks at him through her eyelashes, hands on his face. “Because your ass is mine.”

He swallows hard, a cold shiver running down his spine. They could do so much worse, they could destroy him completely and be done with him. Is this— _mercy_? And yet the thought of acquiescing every one of Rachel’s requests leaves him nauseated, heart beating fast, stress clawing him apart.

Rachel bounces back on her heels, smiling prettily, as if she hadn’t just dismantled his whole life.

“We’ll be in touch.” She winks at him, and follows Blaine out the door seconds later.

The moment the room goes quiet his knees start shaking, legs unsteady, as if someone took away his footing—only someone did, Rachel and Blaine outwitted him, Sebastian blindsided him with this move. Never in a million years did he think his brother would give away that journal, love or not _, heartbreak_ or not. This is one move he never saw coming.

He leans back against his desk and tries to breathe. Where did everything go so wrong? He worked hard to get where he is, no one can deny that, and yes, he played his games and manipulated people when he needed something from them. Who gets anywhere these days by playing fair?

Someone clears his throat. He looks up to see Blaine standing in front of him again.

“Forgot something,” Blaine says, walks over to him, and snatches Sebastian’s car keys from his hand.

He doesn’t say anything. He can’t speak. He’s nailed to the ground by all his secrets.

 

.

 

His heart just about leapt out of his chest when he saw Rachel reach for Hunter’s face. He had no idea Rachel had this side to her, but he does know she’s skilled enough to fake her way through a scene like that.

She’s waiting for him at the end of the hallway after he returns with Sebastian’s keys; there’s no way Hunter was keeping the car. Not only did he now know it was a gift from Sebastian’s father, Sebastian had won their bet, albeit not exactly how Hunter had intended. But a deal’s a deal, Sebastian didn’t have to give up his car.

He locks hands with Rachel as they make their way downstairs, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator. The doorman winks at them, even though he has no idea why, but he gets the feeling that opening the door for Sebastian was always far more pleasant than serving to Hunter’s every whim. It was the first time he’d met Hunter, but he saw Sebastian’s words come to life in front of him, the games and manipulation, the cold exterior that was meant to hide insecurity. He knows Hunter got hurt once, but that was no reason to act the way he did.

Rachel walks over to her car and pops the trunk; she swings his overnight bag over her shoulder while he helps himself to his suitcase. He walks it over to Sebastian’s car, parked conveniently in front of Rachel’s.

“Are you going to be okay?” Rachel asks, not once taking her eyes off him. She’s been extra vigilant these past two weeks, making sure she was always a phone call away; they had lunch or coffee together every day without fail, her care more touching than suffocating. He knew he had to make concessions too, that he had to make an effort so that their bond didn’t unravel all over again. He refused to lose track of Rachel’s life again.

“Are you kidding?” he asks. “I’ve been dying to drive this car.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

He smiles, unable to disagree with her assessment. He was an idiot on so many levels, but none so great as thinking he should keep things in his life a secret from the people he held dearest. They could both have avoided a lot of heartbreak if they’d talked to each other. Then again, he’s not sure he’d do it any different if he got to do it again.

“I’m happy.” He sighs. “Excited. Terrified.”

He’s not sure what he’s feeling.

Rachel hands him his overnight bag. “Tell him I said hi,” she says.

“Do you really think he’ll—”

Rachel leans forward, standing close. “Yes,” she stops him talking, taking hold of both his hands.

“It’s been two weeks.” He shrugs. “I don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Maybe terror is the most prominent feeling right now. When he’d seen Sebastian getting hit by that car nothing mattered anymore, not his past, not his journal, all there was were Sebastian’s kisses and his arms around him, his soft caresses down his skin and the loving nonsense whispered in the dark of the night, their conversations, and the flirting, even the innuendo. 

He didn’t want to lose that.

He wanted that all over again.

No, he realizes, he’d do it all over just the same.

He’d wanted to tell Sebastian right away, go see him at the hospital, but his parents wouldn’t let him—apparently Sebastian slept through most his days and he had a long recovery ahead of him, but then he was shipped off to the Hamptons, well out of reach. It’d taken this long to convince Shelby that he was going after Sebastian, whether she liked it or not he was in love, and whether Sebastian would let him in again or not he was going down there and talk to him.

“Silly brother,” Rachel says. “Tell him how you feel. Talk about everything you need to talk about. See where it goes.”

“He didn’t deserve this.” He shakes his head. “What Hunter did—” Anger spikes through his veins again thinking about Hunter manipulating Sebastian, while Sebastian was under the impression that his own brother would never do that to him. Hunter was Sebastian’s weakness, he’d trusted him too blindly. And the thought that Hunter would hardly pay for what he did—

“I thought we agreed he was my problem now,” Rachel says.

He looks at his sister, a hint of worry touching his heart. He knows she can handle herself, that she has Jesse helping her out and if it ever gets to be too much he knows she’ll tell Shelby everything—and Shelby would eviscerate Hunter. She might pry and be a little overprotective, but when it came down to it Shelby’s not beyond admitting her own mistakes.

“Be careful.”

Rachel smiles wide and cocks an eyebrow. “Have fun.”

“Come here,” he says, pulling Rachel into his arms, holding her in a tight hug. “I love you, sis.”

Rachel kisses his cheek. “Love you too.”

 

.

 

Everything still aches with every breath he draws. He’d broken his left leg, but the doctor told him the clean break was a blessing; he’d broken a few ribs and bruised all the others; he’d suffered a mild concussion and bruised his hip where he’d tumbled onto the car’s windshield, but he’s come to realize he was lucky the car didn’t hit him at full speed.

His body was taking its time to heal, but he’d accepted that. His heart remained a different matter. He hadn't heard from Blaine in two weeks and it would've put him in a tailspin of more hurt if not for Quinn's visit in the hospital. She'd told him Blaine had come to see him in the hospital the day after the accident, and he'd tried to see him several times during the few days he'd mostly spent sleeping, but his parents had stopped Blaine from seeing him. He thinks that was more than likely Hunter's doing.

The thought that Blaine had cared enough to check up on him gets him through most of his days.

As soon as he was discharged from the hospital his mom drove him to the Hamptons, where he stayed with his grandparents on his father's side, who for some reason were still on speaking terms with his mother. A doctor stopped by every now and then to check on his progress, but except for the doctor and his mandatory presence at the dinner table, his grandparents allowed him a generous amount of freedom. Not that he ever went far.

Most of his time was either spent sleeping or reading in his bedroom or by the side of the pool. But his mind came around to Blaine too often for him to move on. He had Jesse's punches coming, his hatred even, but he couldn't stand the thought of Blaine feeling the same way about him. Blaine had refused his offer to spend the summer with him, but did that mean he hated him too?

Two weeks had crept by achingly slow, and the rest of his summer didn’t look much brighter; he’s grateful for the books Santana and Quinn send him, but this isn’t his idea of the ideal summer. He’s just starting the first chapter in some series called _Game of Thrones_ when there’s a subtle knock on his bedroom door.

"Sebastian dear,” his grandmother’s voice reaches through the door. “There's a young man here to see you.”

He puts his book down on his chest and stares at his door, hates how his heart jumps in his chest. It can't be Blaine.

"Sebastian?" his grandmother insists.

"If it's Hunter tell him to fuck off!" he calls, hearing his grandmother's distinct sigh behind the door. She mutters something to the 'young man' who's seemingly in the hallway with her.

"I'm letting him in, I hope you're decent."

His heart stutters again. If it's not Hunter then who? He doesn't have a great many friends who would visit him in the Hamptons. The doorknob turns; he licks his lips and waits for his guest to enter, the anticipation killing him. What if it's Blaine? What will he do? What will he say? What can he possibly say to get Blaine to stay?

Seconds later Blaine peeks his head inside, a giddy smile pulling at his lips, purple V-neck and khaki shorts, shoulder bag strapped across his chest.

He feels the breath knocked right out of him. "Blaine," he whispers and sits up in the bed, but cringes when his ribs very painfully disagree with the sudden movement. "Fuck," he whispers, suddenly wishing he’d taken his grandmother’s advice and put on a shirt, so Blaine could be spared the sight of his bruised chest.

"Oh my God, Sebastian," Blaine says, pulls his bag over his head and leaves it on the ground, rushing over to him. Blaine stops in front of him, and reaches out a hand, but stops mid-air.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he says, hoping he doesn't sound too disappointed. He's glad Blaine took time to come see him, whatever the reason. He swings his legs over the bed and sits up. "Doctor said I’d be fine."

Blaine stands awkwardly in front of him for a few moments, but he ends up taking a step closer. He can't bring himself to meet Blaine's eyes, too afraid of what he’ll see. He’s scared Blaine will only feel pity for him, and that he’s here only to make sure he’s okay.

But Blaine surprises him when he reaches out again and touches him this time, tracing his fingers featherlight over his collarbone.

"I'm sorry for my part in all this," Blaine says softly.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “God, Blaine, you—” He shakes his head and looks up slowly, Blaine standing taller than him. Blaine had no part in all this, not his decision to prey on both him or Rachel, or the accident. All Blaine did was see something in him he didn’t deserve, never deserved. “None of this was your fault,” he says. “I messed up so bad.”

Blaine’s eyes are pitying, but there’s something else as well. “Rachel told me everything,” Blaine says, and it breaks his heart. Blaine shouldn’t have to know what kind of people he and Hunter are. “About what Hunter did. How she came to you. And I read your journal.”

He averts his eyes. “Then you know I’m the one who needs to apologize,” he says. “If I’d known what I found when we met I never would’ve—”

His chest hurts as his breathing deepens, tears stinging behind his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

“I forgive you.”

His head snaps up and he finds Blaine’s eyes, Blaine’s hands on his face before he’s processed everything. _He’s forgiven?_

Blaine’s fingers curl around his neck. “Your past—it doesn’t matter,” Blaine says, but he takes note of the hint of hesitation in his voice. Of course his past matters, it’s who he is, it’s what accompanies him wherever he goes, it’s right there in the room with them. But does it stand between them?

“Yes, it does, Blaine,” he says, words falling in line with his thoughts. Maybe it’s best he lets it all out now, there’s no point in lying or manipulating. Not anymore. “The only question is can you live with it.”

There. It’s out. The most important question.

“Yes,” Blaine answers almost immediately, and when he meets Blaine’s eyes there’s no doubt, not a single note of hesitation.

Can this be happening? Part of him fears he’s caught in some feverish dream, high on painkillers, that Blaine’s not really here with him, touching him, telling him things only his dreams had plagued him with so far. But no, Blaine’s here.

“I mean, there’s some things I think we need to talk about, but—” Blaine takes a deep breath. “You’re not the villain of this story, Sebastian.”

He’s still not too sure about that.

“I got to know the most important part of you first,” Blaine says.

Is that better, he wonders, is it a blessing that Blaine saw his softer side before learning the truth about his past. Usually, in those soppy love stories you see or read about, it’s the other way around. Then again, it took time for both of them to open up, to accept that there was more to each of them than meets the eye. He doesn’t know, it’s all been so confusing.

“I know you,” Blaine adds, one of his hands reaching up into his hair. “I love you.”

He looks up slowly, breathes, wondering what Blaine considers worth loving about him. But he feels the same. His ribs hurt and his chest aches with something else, _love_ , he realizes, and he’ll say it, he’ll admit to it. What else is there left to say? He straightens up, meeting Blaine at eye level. He reaches his arms around Blaine’s waist, pulls him closer, Blaine settling between his legs. He wants to see Blaine’s reaction up close when he admits it.

“I love you too,” he says and the words seem too small, too common to express the way he feels about Blaine.

Blaine smiles and sighs contently, puts their foreheads together, reaching both hands in his hair. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling Blaine’s fingers card through his hair.

“I brought your car,” Blaine says.

“My car?” he asks, frowns—he couldn’t drive his car with a broken leg, and under Hunter’s influence his stepfather had decided it was best to keep the car in the city. How had Blaine gotten hold of it? Had he gone to see Hunter?

“Well, you did win the bet.” Blaine shrugs, voice betraying a hint of humor. “Only fair you get to keep it.” He pulls back slightly, crunches his nose. “And that I get to drive it too.”

He chuckles. “I’m impressed,” he says, fingers sneaking under Blaine’s shirt, drawing circles at the small of his back. He’ll never take this for granted again, this level of intimacy between them, the trust Blaine puts in him. He’s done terrible things, maybe things Blaine shouldn’t forgive him for, but he won’t go back, he’ll never go back. He’ll never be that person again.

“Well, I’m in love,” Blaine answers, his fingers down his neck and he melts against him, leaning in, pressing a long hard kiss to his lips. It’s been a long time but it feels so right, the warmth of Blaine’s body in his arms, the touch of his lips, but—

“Blaine,” he mutters, even though he wants nothing more than sink back on the bed with Blaine on top of him.

“What?”

“I’m still a little fragile,” he croaks, not too proud to admit that pretty much every movement hurts right now.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Blaine breathes and pulls back, putting entirely too much distance between them.

“It’s okay,” he says, urging Blaine closer again. His arms circle around Blaine’s waist, Blaine’s hands settling on his face. “Just be gentle with me for a while.”

Blaine chuckles, lips pushing against his, kiss after kiss after kiss. He has trouble breathing, his ribs make it hard for him to decide exactly how much his lungs will take without anything hurting, but he doesn’t stop Blaine, doesn’t want to push him away now that he finally has him this close again. “Say it again,” Blaine whispers against his lips.

He smiles. “I love you,” he says, presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. “I love you.”

Blaine reaches his arms around his neck, parting his lips for him, sinking down for a deep kiss, tongue caressing his, his arms tightening around his shoulders.

“Blaine,” he protests.

Blaine tenses against him and pulls away. “Sorry,” he says flustered, shaking his head. “I’ll—be gentle.”

He grins, endeared by Blaine’s schoolboy innocence, even though he knows that can change in a flash. He likes that he knows that about Blaine.

Blaine sits down next to him on the bed, takes hold of his hand, playing with his fingers. He’s just about to ask what Blaine’s thinking when he looks up at him, all bright hazel eyes and asks: “How long does it take for rib fractures to heal?”

He groans and lies back, his chest expanding painfully, but it’s easier to breathe.

“That long, hu?” Blaine asks, settling down next to him, head propped up on his elbow, the fingers on his other hand tracing patterns on his skin.  

The doctor told him it’ll be at least another two weeks before most of the pain is gone, and he shouldn’t exert himself in any way. But the thought of having Blaine here now without getting to touch him exactly how he wants to, god, that’s just cruel.

His lips, however, had already healed, so they could probably improvise.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

They do end up talking a lot. In fact, in years to come, both of them will refer to this summer as The Summer They Talked, mostly as some kind of inside joke, a way to avoid talking about the precise circumstances of how they met when people ask them about it. They’ll usually omit the details, only say they were both staying at Emma’s house and a spark ignited that couldn’t be ignored.

Sebastian’s grandparents get the hint pretty fast and give them their space, the house in the Hamptons big enough for them to have their privacy, to sneak around without anyone noticing that neither Blaine nor Sebastian ever spend the night sleeping alone.

Their first few weeks are spent in bed or by the pool, Sebastian still recovering from his wounds. They talk about everything that needs to be said: Blaine’s life before Shelby, with his mom and dad in Ohio; Sebastian’s past before the journal, how and why his parents split up, the kind of impact that had on him. They talk about feelings they hadn’t previously admitted to, fears and insecurities, but desires as well.

Despite the talking, there’s _a lot_ of kissing. Most mornings Sebastian insists they sleep in or have breakfast in bed, which quickly leads to some very interesting uses of certain breakfast foods (specifically strawberries—whipped cream is for the evenings). The first time Sebastian licks at the line of whipped cream running down his chest and his lips wrap around his cock without warning, Blaine yelps so loud that he wakes up Sebastian’s grandparents.

Blaine still hasn't decided what college to attend, he can't make up his mind. He doesn't want to base his choice on what his—his _boyfriend_ has decided, so Yale’s still on the table, along with all the other colleges he got into. The future’s still confusing and his father still expects things from him, but for now it’s summer time and he’s in love and he can’t dwell on anything someone else wants from him. Unless that someone’s Sebastian and that anything involves their bodies somehow.

Sebastian’s ribs heal and they soon expand their repertoire. Roaming hands become groping hands become elaborate hand jobs in the shower; their first time (again) happens quite unplanned one night when they have the house to themselves (okay, maybe not _that_ unplanned), on Blaine’s bed after an intense make-out session and suddenly Blaine’s hand is inside Sebastian’s pants, jerking him off slowly—Sebastian pulls back and bucks in his hand and he’s breathing easy for the first time in weeks and there’s no more words, only the occasional moan and cry, Sebastian’s name whispered over and over again as Sebastian fucks him from behind, a crushing weight on top of Blaine and his fingers pulling at his hair. 

After Sebastian has his cast removed, close to the end of the summer, they get a little more adventurous. Sebastian takes Blaine skinny-dipping in the middle of the night, and has the nerve to be surprised when Blaine wraps his legs around him and drags him underwater. They find secluded spots to picnic (or fool around) outside, interspersed with long (mostly also flirtatious and often interrupted with kisses) talks about the future.

They go out clubbing once, and Blaine blows Sebastian in a bathroom stall, smiling around him because the noises Sebastian makes are so delicious and the thought that he’s the one causing it makes him giddy.

By the end of The Summer They Talked they decide they need to get away longer and much further. They want to avoid the toll the scrutiny at school will take on their budding relationship, and Blaine wants to keep Sebastian away from his dad's and Shelby's criticism. When Blaine tells them that he's going to spend a year in Paris, _with Sebastian_ , his father reluctantly agrees (it was his mother's favorite city in the world) and Shelby's eyes just about pop out of their sockets.

"They said yes?" Sebastian asks when he calls him later.

"Shelby said ' _hell no_ , no son of mine—’”

"You're still an idiot, you know that, right?" Sebastian interrupts.

"Hey, be careful,” Blaine warns. “You're dating this idiot now."

"I love you."

It's the first time Sebastian's the first to say it.

It won't be the last.

"Love you too."

Exactly one year from now they’ll be lounged on the couch together, Blaine lying back on Sebastian’s chest, a tangle of arms and legs and the occasional kiss. Rachel will be seated on the floor staring longingly at her collection of playbills and complaining about how much she misses Jesse, even though he’s only gone for a week while he visits his parents. Jesse’s absence is the only reason Sebastian enters the apartment.

Shelby will roll her eyes and block out their voices, but she’ll secretly agree that Sebastian and Blaine look good together, and Rachel’s adorable when she pouts over her boyfriend. People say that it’s her marriage to Thomas Anderson and her pregnancy that thawed her out, but Blaine and Rachel know better—Shelby was always this, a little overbearing perhaps, but she’s a great mom.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have killer legs?” Sebastian whispers into Blaine’s ear, still mesmerized by Blaine’s body and his penchant for squeezing himself in these tight-fitting chinos of his.

Blaine pulls a leg closer, their bare feet touching. “Shut up,” he says, holding the laptop in his lap in balance with a hand.

“Make me,” Sebastian teases, a hand curling around Blaine’s hip, the other reaching down to cup his ass. Blaine giggles.

“Boys,” Rachel croaks. “Get a room.”

“We’re trying,” Sebastian says, and starts nibbling at his ear.

“ _Stop it_ ,” he breathes, not sounding all that convincing, but he pulls back. He scrolls down the webpage and stops when he sees an interesting ad. “What about this one?”

Sebastian points at the address. “Too far.”

Blaine sighs and scrolls to the next ad, relaxing into Sebastian’s body when he feels him press a kiss to his hair.

They rifle through a dozen more ads before finding it: a big New Haven apartment at an acceptable distance from campus, two bedrooms (in case Rachel decided to visit), a bathroom with walk-in shower, a separate toilet and a large kitchen, and – most importantly – underground parking, because Sebastian refuses to leave the Jaguar out on the street (and Blaine agreed there was absolutely no way he was giving up the car).

 

 

**\- FIN -**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are. The end. This has been one of the most rewarding stories I have ever written, the Seblaine fandom is such a lovely corner with so many amazing people. So many have become friends, others have started following me (on tumblr) and I can't thank you enough for that.
> 
> Special thanks go to xsaturated, who I do believe is partially responsible for this fic even happening in the first place, because I was talking at her about 'hypothetical' casting choices and then it sort of unravelled from there. Thanks to tanisafan, my cheerleader who read all the chapters with unadulterated enthusiasm. And SUPER THANKS to My Bright Knight Inwenalas for her beta-reading skills and putting up with my insane tempo.
> 
> Thanks to blainedarling for her beautiful graphic to accompany the story, sophisticatedloserchick for every single one of her reblogs on tumblr, Dandalion for her CAPS ATTACK REVIEWS right here, all the messages, anon or otherwise. Special thanks to jiqinwudu for creating art for two of my favourite scenes in the story.
> 
> It's been an incredible journey, one I am incredibly proud of. And there's more stories coming!


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